Being In the Sky With Diamonds...
by Kate12
Summary: Formerly "Untitled As of Now"...it took me a LONG time, but it's finally done! To refresh your memory, it's my alternate ending/sequel with characters Lucie DuBois and Amelia Doyle, to name a few. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! Thanks! :) :) :) :)
1. Bittersweet

Title: Good question, because I have no idea  
  
Feedback: Five paragraphs, five words, five letters! I DON'T CARE! I just want something, because I need a reason to keep writing  
  
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so suing me would be a waste of attorney fees. But anyway, I don't own anyone major except Lucie DuBois and Amelia Doyle. All the rest ::tear, tear:: belong to Mr. Lurrhman and those guys in dark suits in Twentieth Century Fox's headquarters  
  
Author's Note: I know this is kinda unrealistic and it maybe like stories other people wrote (sorry) but it was a crazy idea I had after watching the movie.  
  
Summary: I'm not good at this, so I'm just gonna keep you in suspense until you read it, which I encourage greatly  
  
Part One  
  
February 14th, 1900  
  
~ Dupont Sanitarium, St. Germain, France  
  
Using all of her strength, Satine rubbed her sleepy eyes and took a few struggled breaths. The consumption had made breathing a chore nowadays, and the mornings were especially rough.  
  
After properly preparing her sensitive eyes for the harshness of the sunlight filtering through the barred window, Satine let her arm rest down at her side and blinked as she looked at the colorful painting hung above her bureau. Toulouse had painted it for her the day before she left the Moulin Rouge.  
  
Her reverie of the vibrant colors and japanisme was broken when the drab nurse Hilda entered, her mouth in its customary downward, sour curve and her eyes quick and angry.  
  
"Good morning, Hilda." Satine volunteered, determined not to let her bring her mood down.  
  
"Yes. Sit up, girl." She instructed. Satine groaned inwardly as she pulled her body upward into a semi-sitting position. She looked down at her swollen abdomen, trying to remember when it had been washboard flat and thin.  
  
"Sit straight, girl. I have to check the baby's heart-rate too." She said, placing an ice-cold stethoscope in the center of Satine's stomach. When Hilda didn't comment, Satine frowned.  
  
"Is the baby well?" she asked worriedly. Hilda nodded.  
  
"Yes, the little thing is fine. Heart rate's a bit high, but that's only because delivery time is nigh. Now, stand up and let me check your lungs." Satine obeyed, standing with effort. As soon as she did, the familiar tightness in her chest returned, and her knees buckled, causing her to fall in a coughing fit.  
  
Hilda clutched Satine's shoulders and just kept her from falling onto the cool floor. She moved her carefully onto the bed. When the violent choking ceased, Satine gasped for breath.  
  
"Just relax now, girl. Just a coughing fit is all." Satine shook her head.  
  
"Oh, Hilda, I just wish this wasn't true. I wish I was still healthy and just a normal mummy." She whimpered. Hilda, with a flash of almost pity for this ailing, unwed, mother-to-be, sighed.  
  
"I will go get you some tea now, and return later to finish my check up." As soon as her footfalls were out of earshot, Satine was sound asleep.  
  
***  
  
Harold Zidler cursed softly at his aching back as he stepped off the poorly suspended carriage, with an arm-full of flowers and letters.  
  
He trudged up the steps of the Dupont, his eyes stinging with tears. Visiting Satine here, so frail and vulnerable, was tearing him apart. He was the closest thing she had ever had to a father, and he had used her to make money. Now that she was slowly slipping away, he felt somewhat responsible, as if maybe she hadn't been forced into being a courtesan, the consumption could've been prevented.  
  
"Monsuier Harold Zidler to visit Mademoiselle Satine DuBois." He informed the clerk gravely. The young woman nodded and handed Harold a facemask and pointed him down a cream-colored hallway.  
  
***  
  
"Oh, Harold, it's just wonderful to see you." Satine greeted Harold as they hugged. Her voice was perky for her condition, but still held an air of sadness. Harold smiled.  
  
"Yes, my duckling. It's wonderful to see you too. Up and about, as well." He said, inferring to her surroundings, which was the lounge area with a small radio, two couches, and a few tables. She smiled.  
  
"Yes. I've been up and down on this roller coaster, and I'm feeling a little better now." She told him, omitting the part about her sudden and fierce collapse this morning.  
  
"That's peachy, gosling. These are for you." He handed her the bouquet of roses and she smiled.  
  
"Why thank you!"  
  
"Happy Valentine's Day, my dear." She smiled and pecked him on the cheek. He then handed her the letters.  
  
"These are from the girls at the Moulin Rouge. Marie, Genevieve, Rosette, Monique, and even Nini wanted to wish you well." She smiled, remembering Nini and finding it hard to believe this true.  
  
"Why thank you, Harold." He sat down and nodded to her belly.  
  
"And how is the little fille or garcon? Birthing day must be near." Satine put her splayed palm on her stomach.  
  
"It's so funny Harold. These last few nights, I've had the most prophetic dreams. I'm walking in the woods, holding a little child's hand. I suddenly know in my heart this is my child and I try to see it's face, and when I do, it's a little girl. And she smiles at me, with this sweet little face. I respond by saying, "Lucie". So now I am sure it's a little fille." Harold smiled tears in his eyes.  
  
"That's quite remarkable, dear. And Lucie, what a precious name." Satine nodded.  
  
"Yes. Lucie. That will be my daughter's name." Harold laughed.  
  
"My, it's going to be odd picturing you as a mother." Satine smiled.  
  
"I never thought the day would come…" as she spoke the last word, she gasped and clutched her stomach painfully. Harold was on his feet at once.  
  
"Satine! Satine? What is it?" he cried. Satine whimpered in realization.  
  
"I think that the baby is coming…"  
  
"Now?"  
  
"Yes…now! Harold! Get Hilda!"  
  
***  
  
"Laurie, get more hot water!" Hilda shouted at the young mid-wife as Satine lie before her, crying as her body convulsed in contractions. The sobs sounded more like wheezes, for her tortured lungs were very tired. As Hilda watched, she could tell that they would soon be at rest.  
  
We must get this baby out of her now. She turned and angrily screamed, "Laurie! Where is that water!"  
  
***  
  
Harold was anxiously pacing the lounge, where he and Satine had been merrily chatting only an hour ago when she had gone into labor. He was chewing his nails, a detested and secret habit he wished he didn't possess.  
  
As he looked out at the beautiful February day, he thought of the Satine's baby's future. Satine was dying, that could not be denied. He choked up at the very thought, even though he'd known it to be true for a near seven months now.  
  
And still, that child would not die with Satine. It would need to be raised, and Harold feared he was not up to the task. His thoughts then drifted to the shy, starry-eyed writer, Christian.  
  
They had sent Christian away months ago, to protect him from the Duke. After he left, Satine had slept with the Duke. Then, upon learning of the baby inside her, they had sent Satine here. The Duke left upon the belief Satine had died, therefore returning the deeds to Harold.  
  
But Christian was long gone, and were he to return and learn of his child, it would be devastation. He would not be able to cope with Satine's death, let alone be a father. Yes, Harold was this child's only hope.  
  
***  
  
"One more push, girl, and you'll be a mother!" Hilda promised the weakened Satine. Satine, envisioning the small child she'd seen only hours before, mustered up all of her bodily strength and pushed.  
  
Soon, to her unbelievable relief, she heard the telltale wailing of a newborn baby. Relief washed over her like a bucket of ice, and as Hilda washed the baby, Satine could hear it crying. Not a sad or frightened cry, but a cry that it did because that was it's only mode of communication.  
  
Hilda then brought the clean, beautiful, little baby girl wrapped in a pink blanket over to Satine and placed her in her arms.  
  
The baby had ceased crying upon seeing its mother, and looked up through curious sapphire eyes as it cooed. Satine smiled, her heart swelling with a love she never knew.  
  
"Bonjour, cherié. I'm your mummy." The baby, Lucie, reached out a tiny hand and took a lock of Satine's fiery red hair and twirled it. Her own hair was jet black and there certainly was a lot of it for such a young baby, Satine noted. Hilda, who had left to give the new mother and her baby some privacy, re-entered.  
  
"Mademoiselle, they need to record the baby's name now." Satine smiled the radiant smile she had faked so many times before but now needn't pretend and softly said, "Lucie. Lucie Caroline DuBois."  
  
"What a gorgeous name." Hilda commented sincerely. "I'll give you a few moments." She then waddled out of the room and Satine stroked the top of her baby's head.  
  
"My dear Lucie, I hope you always know that you are the most beautiful girl in the land, but that what's inside of you is much more important than the outside. You should also always know that I will love you until the end of time." The baby's only response was a soft murmur of intelligible babble, but to Satine that was enough as her body slowly shut down and full relief took over her.  
  
***  
  
Harold crushed his hat in his hands as the ashen-faced Dr. Breaux stood before him.  
  
Satine. My little sparrow. My little strawberry. She's…dead. Harold could hardly fathom it, and did not want to.  
  
"Do you know want to see her?" Harold, swiping the streams of tears from his face, nodded mournfully.  
  
"I suppose."  
  
***  
  
Satine's ever valiant, endearing, seductive face was not frozen, but settled into a cool, relaxed expression as her motionless body lie on a hospital bed.  
  
Harold stroked her sweat-coated scarlet hair that had taken a second priority the past few months. He would be sure the mortician dressed her well and did her hair the way she liked it.  
  
His eyes trailed down her face, now drawn and pale. What had once laughed and sang and told stories and cried and listened and plotted was now silenced forever. But Harold had an inner feeling Satine would have needed some rest now, the rest she had never gotten in life.  
  
"Monsuier Zidler?" a coquettish voice behind Harold asked. He turned and saw a short, young midwife with a pink bundle in her arms.  
  
"Oui, mademoiselle?" she came closer and held out her arms.  
  
"Would you like to hold the bébé?" she asked. Harold's breath was caught in his throat. The baby before him could have been Satine herself incarnate, except for the black hair.  
  
He nodded numbly and took the baby from her arms.  
  
"Merci beaucoup." He informed her softly. The baby opened her eyes and smiled a heart-melting smile, unaware that she was in fact alone in the world.  
  
"Bonjour, my little Lucie. I'm Harold, and you can call me Uncle Harold."  
  
August 14th, 1900  
  
~ Moulin Rouge, Montmartre, France  
  
The same poorly suspended carriage that had whisked Harold up to the Dupont on that fateful day slowed to a stop before the unusually inactive Moulin Rouge.  
  
With the aid of a few workers, Harold's bags as well as Lucie's were carried quickly inside. Harold stepped regally from his carriage with an air of machoness despite the baby-basket he toted along.  
  
"This, 'tite cherié, is the Moulin Rouge." He spoke softly and with a twang of dreaminess to Lucie. She giggled excitedly, and Harold's heart swelled. In the six months he'd spent at the Dupont with her, her hair had grown out, her eyes became brighter, and her little hands grabbed everything (Harold learned the hard way with his beard) they could grasp.  
  
Harold was greeted by the open arms and surprised eyes of Marie.  
  
"Harol', in our correspondence you didn't tell us nottin' 'bout no baby being birthed!" she smiled at the now cooing Lucie.  
  
"I'm sorry Marie, I just forgot to mention it. It had been rough."  
  
"How's Satine adjusting to motherhood?" she asked distractedly as she picked Lucie up and played with her. Harold lowered his tear-filled eyes. Marie instantly stopped laughing and tears fell from her brown eyes.  
  
"She…?"  
  
Harold nodded in reply.  
  
"How then was the baby…"  
  
"It happened less than five minutes after the baby was born." Marie dropped her head and held the baby close. After a moment, she looked up at Harold with a steely resolve.  
  
"Did she name the baby?"  
  
"Yes. Lucie Caroline DuBois."  
  
"Baptized?"  
  
"An hour after birth." Marie nodded.  
  
"Well, now we've got 'o finish what she started." Marie held Lucie in one arm protectively and picked up the child's bags.  
  
"Come Harold, and get Chocolat. We got 'o set up a room for lil' Miss Lucie Diamond."  
  
***  
  
"Isn't she just the most beautiful?" Monique, a Moulin Rouge dancer, gushed as she played with the wide-eyed Lucie. Rosette agreed with a nod of her head.  
  
"Sure is. Give that bébé red hair and she could pass for Satine." The girls played with the baby's thick dark hair and laughed merrily. She was as precious as a little live doll, and they were very happy to have her, until Nini strolled into the room.  
  
"What's all da fuss 'bout? Just a'other bastard baby. I say send her to a home or somethin'." She grumbled loudly as she looked with an angry eye over the baby.  
  
"Don't be unkind, Nini. She's not just another baby, she's Satine's baby."  
  
Nini snorted. "Sure. She has a baby and she gets whisked off to a resort for a few months and the kid gets to come live here. Any of us gets knocked up and we're on the street, unless we get ridda it!" she pouted, and stomped off. Rosette shook her head.  
  
"Nini is so cold. She blames Harold for her loosin' that baby back when...." Monique nodded.  
  
"Oui, I remember. I guess you don't get over that type of thing." Just then, Marie strolled in.  
  
"What're you girls doin'? Go get ready and let me put the lil' bébé to bed now." She instructed with a wag of her long, manicured finger. They hustled off, and Marie lifted Lucie up.  
  
"There, there now baby doll." Marie whispered softly. Lucie, in all her curiosity, reached out beyond Marie and grasped a hanging piece of newsprint.  
  
"Whatcha got there?" she asked as she removed the print from Lucie's strong little fist.  
  
On the greasy paper that was over a year old, was a photo of Satine, mid-sentence in the "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" routine. Under it was a caption about the up-coming renovations and play, Spectacular, Spectacular.  
  
Marie's eyes moved from the paper to Lucie's eyes, which were boring on Marie's face. Not the typical, absent baby stare but a demanding expression.  
  
After a moment, Marie set the paper aside and started up to Lucie's nursery muttering, "Étonnant."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Author's Note: Okay, this part's done. Rest assured that there is more to come. So whaddaya think? Please review! Thanks! 


	2. Moving On

Title: Good question, because I have no idea  
  
Feedback: Five paragraphs, five words, five letters! I DON'T CARE! I just want something, because I need a reason to keep writing  
  
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so suing me would be a waste of attorney fees. But anyway, I don't own anyone major except Lucie DuBois and Amelia Doyle. All the rest ::tear, tear:: belong to Mr. Lurrhman and those guys in dark suits in Twentieth Century Fox's headquarters  
  
Author's Note: I know this is kinda unrealistic and it maybe like stories other people wrote (sorry) but it was a crazy idea I had after watching the movie.  
  
Summary: I'm not good at this, so I'm just gonna keep you in suspense until you read it, which I encourage greatly  
  
Part Two  
  
October 31st, 1900  
  
~ The Doyle Residence, Llwellyn, Wales  
  
Amelia Doyle watched as her older brother sat in the expansive garden courtyard of the large mansion their parents owned, scribbling on a leather-bound journal.   
  
He'd come back to live with them shortly after returning from wherever it was he'd gone for that forgotten year to aid in caring for their mother, Katharine. Their father, Charles, passed away shortly after Christian re-arrived, and it had been hard on all of them. After that, Katharine had purchased this house in Llwellyn and then fell ill.  
  
Christian had kept much to himself since he'd arrived. It wasn't as though he was a recluse or avoided them, because he was always helping their mother, advising Amelia with her schoolwork, and was quick with a joke, but sometimes he would get this far away look in his eyes that made something stir in Amelia.   
  
Her brother had always been a dreamer, but he wasn't anymore. His journey to wherever had cured him of this. No, this look she wondered about was not that of a dreamer, but that of a jaded man looking back on when he was a dreamer.  
  
It worried Amelia sometimes, because Christian had always dreamed and thought and fantasized about love and goodness, but he never gave it a second thought nowadays.  
  
"A penny for your thoughts." A sudden voice said behind her. Amelia jumped, and realized since she'd been thinking, Christian had left the garden and was now standing in the entrance of the den.  
  
"Oh, good afternoon, Chris. I'm afraid they aren't worth even that." She smiled at him, watching for the faraway look. Not there.  
  
"Ah, my dear sister, they are. Always." There it was. Amelia sighed inwardly. She had to find the source of it. But not now.  
  
"What were you writing about out their, Chris? Certainly not about nature, that's for sure. Hasn't been much to look at." Christian laughed.  
  
"A good artist always finds something to look at in anything." Another faraway looks. Amelia sighed.  
  
"Well, I am going to head out to Miss Manderley's for tea. Care to join?" Christian shook his head lightly, his ebony hair still flinging from side to side messily.  
  
"Very well. Good afternoon, Chris." And she headed out, leaving Christian with his thoughts, a very dangerous situation.  
  
***  
  
It had all seemed so clear to Christian.  
  
"I couldn't do it...I love you, Christian."  
  
"You don't have to pretend...we'll leave...tonight"  
  
"What about the show?"  
  
"Forget the show...darling, you pack..."  
  
Then, reality had slapped him hard on the face.  
  
"I'm staying with the Duke...I choose the Maharajah..."  
  
"NO!" Christian cried as his whole body flew upward. His head spun, and he worked hard for a few moments to regain knowledge of his surroundings.  
  
As he wiped the sweat/tears from his brow, he had a fleeting thankfulness that Amelia was at the Manderley's and his mother was in another deep, comatose-like sleep.  
  
He pulled himself, with every muscle willing, up and sauntered to the window. The setting sun caused his weary, haggard image to reflect strongly from the window, and he squinted at this stranger.  
  
He was long due for a shaving, shower, and he was so pale it was possible that his skin had forgotten what it was to possess pigment. He also noticed his eyes had dulled and his mouth was in a permanent sad repose.  
  
With a begrudging willingness, he turned over in his mind what had occurred after Satine had run sobbing from his apartment that morning.  
  
It had been much of a blur. Sadness, anger, but shock ruling over them. Something was wrong, it wasn't right. Satine was a good actress, but veiled under her cold, stabbing comments was a begging. Begging him to see the real truth. That very thought had fueled Christian to the Moulin Rouge that night of opening, and had ultimately led to his current condition.  
  
When he entered, he expected her to crumble with relief and confess her sadness. But instead, when she greeted him so harshly, and his image of perfecticity had crashed and burned.   
  
"You shouldn't have come." She gasped, nearly wheezed.  
  
"I came to pay my bill." He replied simply.  
  
"Christian, stop it. I need to get ready, so just leave."  
  
But still, he forced his demoralized body forward, the francs in his outstretched hand.   
  
"Where did you get that?"  
  
"Is that what you ask all of your customers?"  
  
Just then, the doors had flung open, and Chocolat had entered.  
  
"Mademoiselle, is everything all right?"  
  
"No. Monsuier Christian is interrupting..."   
  
And in that moment, something told him she hadn't been acting. Through tears, he stuffed the francs in his pocket.  
  
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mademoiselle."  
  
That was the last time he'd heard her voice. But as he had walked blindly from the theater, packed, and boarded a train to London, he'd wished it to be the last. Now, he longed just to hear her speak, even if it was the words of that night.  
  
But that would never be. She was with the Duke, end of story. Happy, rich, famous, everything she wanted.  
  
And here I am, he thought disdainfully as he looked about the den he'd fallen asleep in shortly after Amelia had left.  
  
Wasting my life loving and wishing for a woman that hates me, and would sooner trade my in for diamonds. He stood and walked to the window, staring now with an air of determined purpose.  
  
It all ends today.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Author's Note: Okay, so this story is kinda boring and this chapter was really short, but I promise that it will get interesting. I'm building it up now. Please bare with me, and REVIEW! Thanks and bunch! 


	3. Lucie in the Sky with Diamonds

Title: If you think of anything, please let me know 'cause I'm kinda bad at this titling thing  
  
Feedback: Five paragraphs, five words, five letters! I DON'T CARE! I just want something, because I need a reason to keep writing, and much thanks to those of you who have contributed!!!   
  
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so suing me would be a waste of attorney fees. But anyway, I don't own anyone major except Lucie DuBois and Amelia Doyle, plus a few miscellaneous characters here and there. All the rest ::tear, tear:: belong to Mr. Luhrman and those guys in dark suits in Twentieth Century Fox's headquarters  
  
Author's Note: I know this is kinda unrealistic and it maybe like stories other people wrote (sorry) but it was a crazy idea I had after watching the movie.  
  
Summary: I'm not good at this, so I'm just gonna keep you in suspense until you read it, which I encourage greatly  
  
Part Three  
  
February 14th, 1905  
  
~ Moulin Rouge, Montmartre, France  
  
Bedtime had always been eight o'clock for Lucie, and since she spent most of her days running around backstage with the girls or sneaking off and playing dress-up, it was sometimes a good time because she was usually tired.  
  
But tonight as many nights before, a restless curiosity inside kept her stalling more so than usual as Marie tried to dress her for bedtime so that she could put the finishing touches on the girls downstairs before curtain rise at nine.  
  
"Oh, Lucie would you please just brush your hair out?" Marie asked for the fourth time as Lucie fiddled with two pins. She was seated on the bureau, still in her undergarments because of her refusal to put her bedclothes on.  
  
"Can I have some more cake, Aunt Marie?" she asked, as if she had not heard the previous request.  
  
"You've had three as it is. One of these days you'll turn around and you'll be as fat as that there elephant outside!" A frightening mental image forming in Lucie's mind, she chose to abandon the cake route.  
  
"Then can I go down to the floor?"  
  
"No, Lucie. Ya know the floor is off limits after se'en so Uncle Harold can get it ready for da show." Lucie sighed heavily, adding a whalebone hair comb to her little hair pin collection on her lap and began assembling a little palace with them. Marie sighed, and made her way over to the bureau.  
  
"Girl, you know I have to go get the girls downstairs ready. Can you please be a good cherié and brush your hair and put your nightclothes on so I can move on?" Lucie slouched over in dismay as her hair product castle collapsed and shook her head, letting her long, curly, black hair fly for emphasis.  
  
"Can I help you get the girls ready? I can get you the make up and zip up their costumes! Oh, please, Aunt Marie?" she pouted, letting her saucer-shaped azure eyes twinkle, a little trick she picked up. Harold was a sucker for it, but Marie was one wiser.  
  
"You know very well you can't be down there. Now just hop on down and I'll brush your hair." Lucie discontentedly slid off the bureau and plopped her behind in a chair. Marie, relieved at victory, then proceeded to comb her hair.  
  
"Too much like your mother, you are." She muttered. Lucie, with her ever-alert ears, picked that up and twisted her freckle-sprinkled nose up in thought and scheming.  
  
"My mummy wouldn't let you brush her hair?" Marie laughed.  
  
"Not only that, she'd sneak down..." catching herself and gave Lucie a soft whack on the shoulder. "I'm not giving your lil' mind any ideas, Lucie Diamond." She then pulled Lucie out of the chair, pulled the blue silk nightgown over her underclothes, and helped her into the tall canopy bed that had once belonged to Satine.  
  
"Sing me a song, Aunt Marie, so I can sleep better." Exasperated but seeing this as the only way to silence her, Marie began to sing the song she had been singing since the child's birth.  
  
Picture yourself in a boat on a river  
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies  
Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly  
A girl with kaleidoscope eyes  
Cellophane flowers of yellow and green  
Towering over your head  
Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes  
And she's gone  
Lucie in the sky with diamonds  
Follow her down to a bridge by a fountain  
Where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies  
Everyone smiles as you drift past the flowers  
That grow so incredibly high  
Newspaper taxis appear on the shore  
Waiting to take you away  
Climb in the back with you head in the clouds  
And you're gone  
Lucie in the sky with diamonds  
Picture yourself on a train in a station  
With plasticine porters with looking glass ties  
Suddenly someone is there at the turnstile  
The girl with kaleidoscope eyes  
  
"Good night and Joyeux Anniversaire." Marie whispered. And she slept. Or so Marie thought.   
  
But as she crept from the room, Lucie's devilish eyes fluttered open. She dare not move, for she knew Marie would hover around the door for a few moments to listen for activity.  
  
Finally, the beloved old woman's hollow-heeled shoes clattered down the hall, to the staircase, and from there the dressing room. Sensing safety, Lucie tossed the heavy sheets and comforter from her bed and swung her legs over the side, letting them dangle as she allowed her eyes to adjust to the dark.  
  
After a moment to make sure she could maneuver without incident through the shadows, Lucie slipped from the bed and pulled a light pink silk robe on and thick, gray, wool socks to cover her toes and muffle her footsteps.  
  
She was meticulous in her planning for this, because getting caught would mean locked doors and a sensitive eye. She loved Uncle Harold, Aunt Marie, and all the people at the Moulin Rouge, and sometimes she felt guilty slinking around in the shadows and watching the performances and the backstage banter, but it was the only way she could satisfy her longing for knowledge. In the case she did get caught, each night she'd written down her observations in a hidden journal.  
  
Maybe someday I'll write a book. She thought fleetingly as she tiptoed down to the forgotten catwalk above the backstage area. Mostly used by stagehands during plays, it was long neglected yet still could hold her forty or fifty pounds.  
  
As she held onto the rough rope that made a makeshift handrail, she stood on the tippy toes of her worn socks and peered down below, committing each statement to memory for her journal.  
  
She couldn't quite get a view of any faces, no matter how much she strained herself, so to conserve her energy, she curled up out of sight but not earshot and tuned in.  
  
"Oh, Rosette, what do you think of this?" Monique asked cheerily, presumably about a dress.  
  
"Lovely. Even covers yer rolls." A bitter, piercing voice jabbed, which was of course, Nini. Many people saw her as mean and cruel, but Lucie, through her child eyes, saw a very sad, unhappy, hurting woman. Lucie wondered silently whatever happened to make her that way.  
  
Monique, however, was rightfully hurt.  
  
"I didn't ask you, Nini. For obvious reasons. So Rosette?"  
  
"It is lovely. Monique. But don't wear those shoes. Here, borrow my white ones." Lucie heard the rustlings of Rosette rising and retrieving the shoes. "There you are."  
"Thank you, Rosette." Just then, the familiar clip-clops of Marie's shoes sounded.  
  
"All right you garls. Curtain's up in five. Monique and Rosette, you are all on stage B. Nini, we need to talk about a certain young actor that may be up to playing in the next production."  
  
"Duping him, am I?"  
  
Marie hissed. "Don't speak such words! Have you no class?"  
  
"Do I look like I got class, Marie? Huh, deary? Now tell me, am I?" Marie sighed in defeat.  
  
"Oui, you are."   
  
"That's all I needed to hear." She ran off the stage, and Marie too in the opposite direction. Lucie, with a thoughtful look on her face, crawled on hands and knees of the catwalk, just in case a wayward stagehand decides to saunter up for a better view.  
  
When she finally reached the rafters that were low enough she could jump between, she slipped her thin legs between then and was almost all the way down when a forceful hand closed around her arm and pulled her roughly upward, dragging her unblemished skin against the wood and resulting in many painful splinters.  
  
"An' what might 'cha be doin' there, 'tite? Eavesdroppin', a bit?" Nini hissed as she pulled Lucie's face into her own contorted.  
  
"N-Nini, I'm..."  
  
"Just snooping, that it?" Lucie gulped and took a breath.  
  
"I-I'm sorry..."  
  
"Sure you are. Get lost. I'm telling Harold as soon as I'm done with the actor." She snapped. Her heart sinking at the fact her beloved nighttime escapades would soon be no more, a thought festered in Lucie's mind.  
  
"What do you mean, "done with the actor"?" she asked, unaware the answer she was about to receive would be ingrained in her subconscious for years.  
  
"You know, done wit him. Duping, making love, touching him in his privies, and whatnot. Why? Old Harol' hasn't quite gone over that with you? Well, it's what I do. I get my money, they get their jollies." Lucie's eyebrows knitted and her stomach flopped.  
  
"Well, urchin, I best be going. Now get lost." She snapped as she strode off, her spider-web dress flopping. Lucie got to her feet and ran quickly, wanting to crawl under her sheets and hide.  
  
But as she climbed back into the warm recesses of her bed, her mind whirled with thoughts.  
  
Touching him in his...Lucie didn't like to think about that as she curled her body into a tiny ball. She then had a prickling thought.  
  
My mummy used to be a chahuteuse, like Nini. I wonder if she ever... Lucie squeezed her eyes shut.   
  
Not my mummy...not just for money, like Nini said. That's just not right. Lucie thought about what Aunt Marie and Uncle Harold had told her about her mummy:  
  
"Aunt Marie, tell me about my mummy." She had asked innocently one hot, sticky, summer day as she played around in the den with her dolls, wearing a very thin, cottony dress.  
  
"Well, you're mummy's name was Satine DuBois, and was very tall, beautiful, and had long, red, curly hair. Like yours, except hers was red."  
  
"What did she do at the Moulin Rouge?" Lucie had asked, more interested now.  
  
"She was a chahuteuse, my dear."  
  
"A dancer?"  
  
"Oui, the star." Marie then rose and went over to an oak desk, retrieving from the top drawer a photo. Lucie jumped up excitedly, and gasped at the picture. It was a beautiful woman, posed with a pout on her face seated on a high swing in a glittery costume. Her crimson hair was tied back elegantly and cascading curls hung down her neck. Behind her a large group of dancers dressed similarly were posed.  
  
"Oh, Marie! Is that my mummy?"  
  
"Oui. Beautiful."  
"You told me she got sick. How?"  
  
"Like all people get sick, dear: dumb luck. Sheer, bad luck."  
  
"But she's in heaven right?" Lucie asked, fingering the photo in fascination.  
  
"Of course. She's watching too, so you must be extra good." Lucie looked up fearfully at the ceiling, hoping her mummy hadn't seen her sneak that crepe from the kitchen.  
  
"What about my daddy, Aunt Marie?" A dark shadow passed over her face, one that warned Lucie to steer clear of that topic.  
  
"Such a questionin' mind, you've got my dear. But that's enough for today. How about an éclair, m'dear?"  
  
And that had steered her from the subject. After all, her curiosity was about her mummy, and her daddy was a distant figment. Plus, an éclair seemed a lot more attractive than getting scolded for asking too much.  
  
But now, as she lay in a curled up ball in her bed with tears stinging like bees on her eyes, her curiosity was self-satisfied. Her mother was a chahuteuse and apparently, that's what they did.  
  
Lucie then sadly reached for the picture Marie had given her last year and touched the slightly creased photo and ran her finger along the edge.  
  
She had always looked at her mummy like a heroine, a goddess. Surrounded by lights, sparkling things, and all that glamour and she sold herself...  
  
Why, mummy, why? Lucie wondered as her senses dulled and consciousness faded away to a restless slumber.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Songs used (yeah, yeah, I don't own them either):  
  
"Lucie in the Sky with Diamonds" by John Lennon and Paul McCartney  
  
Author's Note: Alas, another short chapter meant only to build character. But more is coming, so sit tight. And much thanks to those of you who have reviewed and I'd like to apologize for the little slip about the radio in chapter one. Guess I should stop sleeping during cultures class ::giggles mischievously:: Oh well, please keep the reviews coming and thanks again! TTFN 


	4. Everybody Loves You Now

Title: If you think of anything, please let me know 'cause I'm kinda bad at this titling thing  
  
Feedback: Five paragraphs, five words, five letters! I DON'T CARE! I just want something, because I need a reason to keep writing, and much thanks to those of you who have contributed!!! (  
  
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so suing me over copyrights would be a waste of attorney fees. But anyway, I don't own anyone major except Lucie DuBois, Amelia Doyle, Katharine Doyle, Bebe Doyle, Stuart Matthews, plus a few miscellaneous characters here and there. All the rest ::tear, tear:: belong to Mr. Luhrman and those guys in dark suits in Twentieth Century Fox's headquarters  
  
Author's Note: I know this is kinda unrealistic and it maybe like stories other people wrote (sorry) but it was a crazy idea I had after watching the movie.  
  
Summary: I'm just gonna keep you in suspense until you read it ::mwahaaa::  
  
Part Four  
  
January 6th, 1908  
  
~ The Doyle Residence, Llwellyn, Wales  
  
Katharine Doyle stared hypnotically through the wide bay window in her bedroom, watching the landscape that had just been covered in winter's security blanket of snow.  
  
Since her second stroke last year, partial of left side was paralyzed and her speech was full of stutters and reversed words. Embarrassed and disappointed, Katharine had decided to stop talking entirely. It'd been seven months since her last spoken octave, and she had no plans to break the spell. Or course there were cures, but nothing inspired Katharine have one done.  
  
But when one sense is impaired, Katharine discovered, the rest are in over drive. As if she hadn't been enough of a worrywart before she'd stop speaking, her heightened senses of hearing and seeing threw gasoline on a fire already very alive.  
  
Amelia had matured considerably, and become more outspoken during this time. She ran around with boys that were of the unsavory types and began to wear suggestive clothing. Not only that, but her entire manner was shifting from the way she sat to the way she ate.  
  
Christian was trying to be a father to her, but he was caught up in an inner turmoil that Katharine feared was far worse than Amelia's outward rebellion.  
  
Seven or so years ago, about a year after his return home, Christian had surprised the entire family by taking in marriage Bebe Ivory, the daughter of a close business associate of Charles's. That had been the running argument between Charles and Christian: Charles wanted him to marry her and Christian refused.  
  
But then, all of sudden, on January 1st of 1901, he had announced their elopement. Katharine was initially thrilled he was settling down, but then a sense of worry came over her. Christian had adamantly refused for years before to marry her. He was not in love, this Katharine knew. There was nothing to gain for the family, since Charles was no longer living. Her dowry was large but the Doyles' were never lacking for money. Yes, Christian's motives were often questioned in her mind.  
  
Especially since despite their displays of limited affection, Christian and Bebe were opposites in everything. Literature, music, politics, everything. Water and oil had more in common and more chance of matrimonial bliss than Christian and Bebe appeared to.  
  
I only hope he discovers this for himself before it's too late.  
  
***  
  
"What exactly is your problem, Christian?" Bebe Doyle shouted angrily as they entered their private quarters in the huge mansion. Christian tossed his coat on the coat rack and turned, patiently asking, "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean we were at the Arlington's and you hardly said boo. When you did, you insulted Mr. Arlington's taste in artwork!" she screeched. Christian winced at the glass-shattering voice, and calmly said, "Dear, it was rather bland."  
  
"Yes, but that doesn't mean you have to go on a spiel about your alcoholic midget Bohemian friend Toe-lace or whatever!" Christian, not feeling up for a battle, walked into his study.  
  
"Don't walk away from me, you coward!" Bebe shouted. Christian, who had just been about to close the door, turned and lethally stared at her.  
  
"I'm a coward? You are calling me a coward? Now I've heard everything. You have no idea what talent lies within the Bohemians if only you'd stop being such a prissy stuck-up snob for five minutes. But that would be asking too much of you, obviously. 'Tis better to be silent and thought a fool than open your mouth and remove all doubt. You, my dear, have indeed opened your mouth!" he shouted.  
  
"You are nothing but a drunken fool, lost in your fairy tales and dreams!" she screamed.  
  
"They are not fairy tales!"  
  
"Oh, my dear stupid Christian. Of course they are! Especially that one about the slut Satine." With that, Christian froze in place, his jaw slack. Bebe smiled.  
  
"Yeah, I read about her. How she used you…"  
  
"Where did you read that?" Bebe picked up his sacrosanct leather- bound journal, which was stuffed full of loose-leaf papers as well as it's own pages.  
  
"In here. You go on and on about truth and beauty and love and freedom like a babbling idiot. And that's what you are! And she saw it as well as I do! Good thing she got rid of you when she did. At least for her." Christian felt as though Bebe had dumped salt on a deep, open wound.  
  
He'd buried his thoughts of Satine in seven years of alcohol and unhappiness, determined that if the memories and thoughts were not thought about, then they would surely disappear. But now they came flooding back, like a river that had been dammed up for too long.  
  
"I'll be in the study." He murmured, turned like a wounded puppy and closing himself inside.  
  
"Of course you will!" Bebe shouted and hurled the journal at the door, causing it to explode in a mountain of ink-smeared papers.  
  
January 7th, 1908  
  
~ The Doyle Residence, Llwellyn, Wales  
  
What the…Amelia wondered as she knelt in front of her brother's study and picked up his journal. Pages were crumbled, ripped, and torn and Amelia realized this poor book must've been on the business end of one of Bebe's famous temper tantrums.  
  
Maybe I can repair it. She thought as she straightened the sheets and tried to put them in some kind of logical time order. Christian's writing varied from strong and sure to leaning and scrawling, so the dates were hard to place.  
  
Finally, when it looked all right, she tapped on the study door.  
  
A soft murmur of noise affirmed her knowledge that Christian was in there, and a slurred, heavy voice then said, "C'min."  
  
Amelia eased the door open, and grimaced at the sight inside.  
  
Christian was in yesterday's outfit, which was now badly rumpled. He was lying like a dead corpse on the sofa and two empty bottles of scotch lay on the floor. The smell of the bitter alcohol assaulted her nose and she stifled a sneeze.  
  
"While I pondered weak and weary over a many quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—while I nodded, nearly napping, there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door." Christian said dreamily, rubbing his eyes and trying to regain clear vision by repeatedly blinking. Amelia sat on a nearby chair and looked at her brother with a mix of disgust and sympathy.  
  
"Beautifully spoken for a man intoxicated." He laughed and took the last sip of leftover scotch in his glass.  
  
"Ah, yes. You are the raven in poem, my dear sister." He smiled dreamily.  
  
"Bebe's left." Amelia deadpanned. He blinked.  
  
"How long?" She shrugged.  
  
"Yesterday, after the little tantrum she threw, she packed up and went to the train station. Probably to her parents."  
  
Christian shrugged. "Just as well. They're all alike."  
  
Amelia frowned. "What are you going to do with yourself, Christian? You can't be depressed over Bebe forever."  
  
Christian furrowed his brow. "I'm not depressed, and if I were going to be I wouldn't waste my time over Bebe." He stood and walked to the window, hands thrusted in the deep pockets of his wrinkled pants.  
  
"Then what, Christian? You've been in a fog all day yesterday and today…"  
  
"It's been longer than that." He told her softly. She frowned.  
  
"Well, find a way to lift it, Christian. Go back to being the brother I adored. Go back to the dreamer…" Christian slammed his fist on the desk, cutting off Amelia. She cringed slightly, as he glared at her.  
  
"Dreamer, Amelia? Dreaming is fruitless, because someday it all ends, and you are left with nothing!" he shouted, his voice making the windowpanes and glasses vibrate.  
  
"Christian, calm down…"  
  
"NO! I cannot calm down! Dreaming is what fools do! Fools who think that everything will work out, that the person they love will always love them back, and love will conquer all and…" he trailed off and as tears began to fall, he turned to the window.  
  
"Leave me, sister." Amelia, hesitant, stood and looked at his back. Finally, she turned and left.  
  
***  
  
She could never understand. Christian thought to himself as the waterfalls of tears poured unendingly down his face. He then cursed himself silently.  
  
You were supposed to forget her, you damned fool. He told himself bitterly as he turned and sunk into the large leather chair behind the desk.  
  
She hated you: traded you in, like an old hat. Never loved you, just used you. Bebe was right; you should have listened to that evil wench. He turned and slowly, as if afraid to disturb something, slipped the program to Spectacular, Spectacular out of his top desk drawer and stared at the blissful face of Satine. Off the top of his head, his thoughts melded into a song:  
  
Baby all the lights are turned on you  
  
Now you're in the center of the stage  
  
Everything revolves on what you do  
  
Ah, you are in your prime; you've come of age.  
  
And you can always have you're way somehow  
  
But everybody loves you now  
  
You can walk away from your mistakes  
  
You can turn your back on what you do  
  
Just a little smile is all it takes  
  
Yeah, you can have your cake and eat it too  
  
Loneliness will get to you somehow  
  
But everybody loves you now  
  
Ah, they all want your body  
  
And they wait for your reply  
  
And between you and me  
  
So do I  
  
All the people want to know your name  
  
Soon there will be lines outside your door  
  
Feelings do not matter in your game  
  
Yeah, 'cause nothing's gonna touch you now  
  
So your life is only living anyhow  
  
And everybody loves you now  
  
Close your eyes when you don't want to see  
  
Stay at home when you don't want to go  
  
Only speak to those who will agree  
  
Yeah, and close your mind when you don't want to know  
  
You have lost your innocence somehow  
  
But everybody loves you now  
  
Ah, but you know that nothing lasts forever  
  
And it's all be done before  
  
See how all the people gather 'round  
  
Hey, isn't it a thrill to see them crawl  
  
Keep your eyes ahead and don't look down  
  
Yeah, and lock yourself inside your sacred wall  
  
This is what you wanted; ain't you proud?  
  
Everybody loves you now  
  
Christian wiped the tears from his eyes and tossed the program back into the drawer, slamming it shut.  
  
***  
  
Listening to Christian's soulful solo upstairs, Amelia sighed heavily. It was no use, trying to talk Christian out of this stupor. It had to be changed—and quick.  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted as Cindy, a maid, opened the door and poked her timid head in.  
  
"Miss Amelia, there is a letter here for Master Christian, but he has requested to be left alone…" Amelia stood and took the letter.  
  
"Thank you, Cindy." She looked down and read the name on the stationary. Stuart M. Matthews.  
  
Amelia was almost in tears, she was so happy. Stuart was an old friend of Christian's from London, who had a way of making even the saddest person laugh and the happiest person feel elated. He was a true friend, loyal as ever and always ready to snap you back into shape if you were acting like a louse, as he called it.  
  
If there is any hope at all for Christian, Stuart is it…  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Song used without, shall we say, permission:  
  
"Everybody Loves You Now" by the very talented Billy Joel  
  
Author's Note: Yeah, I just HAD to give Christian an evil wife ::allows tomatoes to hit her in the face:: And no, I am not going to drag this on FOREVER just give me a chapter or more!!! More is on the way and MUCH, MUCH thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far ;) Ta ta for now! PS: Title suggestions welcome!!! Buh-bye 


	5. With a Little Help from a Friend...

Title: If you think of anything, please let me know 'cause I'm kinda bad at this titling thing  
Feedback: Five paragraphs, five words, five letters! I DON'T CARE! I just want something, because I need a reason to keep writing, and much thanks to those of you who have contributed!!! :)  
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so suing me over copyrights would be a waste of attorney fees. But since I'm kinda sick of repeating myself about who I own and don't own, I'll just say if they weren't in the movie, I own 'em and if they were, then Mr. Luhrman owns 'em.   
Author's Note: I know this is kinda unrealistic and it maybe like stories other people wrote (sorry) but it was a crazy idea I had after watching the movie.  
Summary: I'm not good at this, so I'm just gonna keep you in suspense until you read it ::mwahaaa::  
  
Part Five  
  
January 12th, 1908  
~ The Isaac Inn, London, England  
Harold Zidler finished off the lobster and corn chowder with a satisfying gulp before he checked his pocket watch. It was quarter past one.   
Those actors, he thought, Think they run the show. He wiped his mouth and signaled the waitress for another drink. When she returned, he sipped thoughtfully, casing the crowd.  
London was outwardly a lovely place for the most part, but for the past days Harold had spent in the seedy part of town his hotel was located at, the similarities to Montmartre were as noticeable as a drop of black ink in a cup of milk. The girls that wondered the streets in the night, the men that waited for them, the hustlers that sat on street corners-once you've seen one city, you've seen them all.  
Finally, his thoughts ceased when a tall, slender, redheaded man paused at the table. He had the face of a choirboy, and the body of an athlete of some kind. He opened his pursed mouth.  
"Mr. Harold Zidler?" Harold nodded.  
"Yes, are you the actor?" The man nodded and held out a slender white hand.  
"Yes, my name is Stuart Matthews."  
  
  
January 14th, 1908  
~ The Matthews Residence, London, England  
"Well if it isn't the lost little lamb!" Stuart cried as he looked at the sullen, slouched-over Christian from his open front door. He enveloped Christian in a bear hug and slapped him on the back.  
"I was wondering when you'd get here!" Christian smiled weakly as Stuart led him into a plush den.  
"I was wondering if I'd get here alive. The train ride and all..." Christian commented, the paper maché food, the nosy seat partner, and the incessant bumping flashed briefly in his mind as he sat on a large sofa.  
"Pity. I was hoping it'd be a good ride. A drink, to soothe your nerves?" Christian ignored the burning urge in his stomach and shook his head. He had discovered that the drinking didn't dull the pain at all, it just veiled it. That way, when you least expected it, the veil would come off and it would be there, just as hurtful as ever.  
"No, trying to kick the habit." Now, feeling a bit more light-hearted in the company of an understanding friend, Christian smiled.  
"So what is this "pressing" dilemma you summoned me here for? I must say you sparked my curiosity with that letter." Stuart, who had made himself a brandy, sat across from Christian with the most excited, almost childish look on his face.  
"Christian, I got a job offer! A real job offer to be an actor! It's the best opportunity ever!" Christian laughed.  
"That's wonderful, Stuart! Is it the lead?"  
"Do you think I'd settle for anything less?" Stuart demanded jokingly. Christian shook his head.  
"I guess not. So, have you called me here to tell me in person, or...?" Stuart shook his head.  
"No...this maybe a bit forward, but I want you to be my agent." Christian tilted his head.  
"Why? I know nothing of show business..." Stuart held up a hand.  
"No, Christian, you do! You spent a year in Montmartre! At the Moulin Rouge, no less! You know how all of these show folk operate! I need that knowledge! You're well-traveled and erudite, exactly what an agent should be." Christian rolled this over in his head for a few moments.   
Amelia had been pressuring him to leave Llwellyn for a while, to travel some more, and change a little, and this was the perfect opportunity. Plus, he would be earning extra money and helping a friend.  
"Why not?" he finally said aloud. Stuart erupted in laughter and again bear hugged Christian.  
"Great stuff, chum! Great stuff! Tomorrow, we'll leave to visit my friend in Paris, and then we'll get to work." Christian smiled.  
"Sounds like a plan."   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Author's Note: Yes, yes, and another short chapter, but hopefully the connection is getting clearer. Sadly, my three-day weekend is coming to a bitter, bitter end, and I must return to school, so the next few chapters may be VERY slow in coming. Oh well. I know I've said it before but to those of you who've reviewed my work: thank you thank you thank you. You're feedback is greatly appreciated and helpful. Ta ta for now! ;-) 


	6. Return to Montmartre

Title: If you think of anything, please let me know 'cause I'm kinda bad at this titling thing  
Feedback: Five paragraphs, five words, five letters! I DON'T CARE! I just want something, because I need a reason to keep writing, and much thanks to those of you who have contributed! :)  
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so suing me over copyrights would be a waste of attorney fees. But since I'm kinda sick of repeating myself about who I own and don't own, I'll just say if they weren't in the movie, I own 'em and if they were, then Mr. Luhrman owns 'em.   
Author's Note: I know this is kinda unrealistic and it maybe like stories other people wrote (sorry) but it was a crazy idea I had after watching the movie.  
Summary: I'm not good at this, so I'm just gonna keep you in suspense until you read it ::mwahaaa::  
  
Part 6  
  
January 20th, 1908  
~ Moulin Rouge, Montmartre, France  
"Harol', how was your journey?" Marie asked cheerily as she helped him bring his bags in from the carriage. They both moved quickly over the swamp-like ground. It had been an unusually warm winter, and the precipitation was mostly rain.  
"Wonderful, Marie. The boy agreed to do it. He's coming down with his agent in two days. I tell you, he could be a ten-year-old, the way he looks. Red hair too, like nobody's business." Marie smiled.  
"Whaddaya know...another redheaded star." Harold smiled as well, despite the pang of sorrow for his little cherub.  
When they reached his elevated office in the separate tower aside the great Red Windmill, Harold shook off his jacket and looked about.  
"And where might lil' Miss Lucie Diamond be?" he asked curiously. She was very mischievous (like mother, like daughter) and her being unattended for too long could have disastrous consequences. Marie, noticing his rather alarmed look, shook her head.  
"No need to worry, Harol'. She's with Jean-Luke, the DeLoncre's little boy. They play in the village during the day." Still worried, Harold frowned.  
"What if they should wander into Paris? Certainly they'd be lost..."  
"No, I made it clear to Lucie if she was to wander into Paris, she shall not 'spect us to be followin'."   
"What if they should be taken right here in Montmartre?" Marie waved her hand.  
"Oh, Harol', pish-posh. Everybody knows she's Satine daughter. No one from Montmartre would have enough stupidity and gall to take her."  
***  
"Stuart, you didn't tell me your job was at the MOULIN ROUGE!" Christian hissed as they got off of the train at the Cartier Train Depot. Stuart shrugged sheepishly.  
"I'd known you'd been there before...I was afraid if I told you, you'd refuse." Christian's green eyes swelled.  
"SO YOU LIED!?"  
Stuart held up his hands. "I just left it out." Christian raised his hands.  
"You lied by omission!" Stuart came close.  
"Man, you told of that girl, Satine. I know she hurt you but man, you either have go to her and be with her or just forget about her. Get closure! If she's there and you want to get back together, do it! If she's there and you don't want to get together, just do your job and show her you don't care. If she's not there, then don't worry about it!" Christian thought about this. It was true. Stuart was right.   
I have to either move on or move in. He giggled inwardly at this analogy.  
"All right, Stuart. Let's go."  
***  
"No, you're it!" Jean-Luke cried as he ran mud-covered down the cinder steps of his parent's grocery store. Lucie, equally mud-covered, was hot on his heels.  
"Oh, Luke, you are nothing but a sore loser!" he froze to a halt on the main road, just avoiding a horse cart.  
"Am not!" he shouted, then beginning to pout. Lucie was about to begin on a convincing spiel on how his pulling her hair didn't qualify as a tag, but then she frowned.  
"Luke...stay still..." she moved close, her eyes squinted. Luke froze like a board, his dark eyes wide.  
"Lucie? What is it?" She came close, staring hard at his face. Then, before the petrified boy could react, Lucie slapped his shoulder and ran, screaming over her shoulder, "You're it!" Luke stood, flabbergasts, and then began hot pursuit. No way a girl was going to beat him at a game he taught her how to play.  
The two children ran through the crowd, skillfully maneuvering around the shoppers and salesmen. The sales people were accustomed to their rowdiness, but the out-of-town tourists not so much. Their annoyance was the salesmen's annoyance, so Lucie and Luke made it their business not to step on any toes-figuratively and literally speaking.  
Lucie cut the corner of a hotel very close and turned to see if Luke was anywhere nearby. She saw him round the corner about twelve yards back, and was about to shout a taunt when her running was cut short...  
...before she knew what hit her, Lucie was on her behind in the dirt of the alley, looking up at a darkly-dressed, pale, scholarly-looking man. Mortified, Lucie scrambled to her feet. Luke, witnessing it all, stayed behind, blending with the woodwork.  
Lucie stared at the large mud mark on the man's black clothes (that had the anagram CMD) and with her jaw-hung open, she moved her eyes up to his face. His dark hair, much like her own, was cropped tightly to his head. His sea-green eyes were shadowy and cloudy, but revealed a very smart man. His mouth was pursed in constant shyness, and his movements were slow and calculated.  
He brushed the majority of the now-drying mud off of his jacket and looked at Lucie.  
"Monsuier, I'm very sorry...I never...my friend..." Lucie, for once in her life, was at a loss for words. The man looked at her, and a flash of emotion she couldn't identify flickered through his eyes.  
He doesn't appear too angry...she thanked God for small favors. He moved close to her.  
"Dear, you should be careful. I would hate to see that pretty face harmed, had I been a carriage or a horse." He wiped mud off of her face and she looked at him, more composed, and puffed out her chest.  
"I'm dearly sorry, sir, that I ruined your jacket, I will repay you. My uncle works..." she began to motion with her arm but he shook his head.  
"Think nothing of it, child. It was an old jacket. But best be careful. Good day, mademoiselle." He tipped his hat at her like she was a noble child and he was a nobleman. He then strode off, in the direction of Hotêl La Blanche.  
***  
"Good God, Lucie! What happened!" Harold cried as Lucie entered, smeared with mud and her dress torn. He grabbed her shoulders and did a hurried examination.  
"Uncle Harold, I was just playing..." He gasped.  
"It looks as though you made mud pies and rolled in them!" he pulled her by the hand into the bathroom that was off of her bedroom.  
Filling the basin that sat in the center of the room with water, Harold shook his head.  
"Aunt Marie told me you and Luke played...but at least have the decency to wear a play dress. Not your..." he pulled the what used to be light pink satin dress off of her and grimaced. "...rose frock." He groaned and turned his back as Lucie took off her underclothes and climbed in.  
"It was just a friendly game of tag!" she insisted as Harold dumped a bucket over her hair, causing her wild black hair to suck in and stick to her head. She gasped as the frigid water ran down her tiny body.  
"Oh! Uncle Harold that's ice water!" she moaned.   
"Serves you right, ruining your dress like that!" he rubbed a bar of lye soap on a cloth and handed it to her.  
"Now wash yourself, girl! You'll catch your death of cold!" Harold informed her as he picked up the ruined dress.  
"I'm sorry, Uncle Harold. Are you going to punish me?" Lucie asked as she rinsed her sudsy hair with more frosty water.  
"No, dear. Just don't ever do it again. Now wash up and Aunt Marie will be in to help you dress." He exited, probably rushing the dress to the garment "emergency room", as Lucie tagged it.  
"I'm not a baby, I can dress myself." She mumbled as she pulled her now-clean self from the tub and wrapped a thick, heavy towel around herself and looked in the mirror. Her face, now as white as sugar with rosy cheeks and lips, did look a lot better with out the mud as an accessory. Her eyes were as clear as water, and her lashes were no longed clogged with mud.  
I wouldn't want that pretty face harmed...that's what that nice man had said. He had indeed been nice. Anyone else would have cursed her and returned her by the ear to Harold, giving him a lecture he'd heard before about his misbehaving niece.  
As she combed out her hair, now tamed but slowly returning to it's rebellious curl, she thought about that man a little bit more. He wasn't like most people that came to Montmartre-he seemed not surprised about anything. He seemed familiar to the goings-on of the village.  
Like he'd been here before...  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Author's Note: Ah, father and daughter meet at last!!! More to come!!! Reviews are appreciated and encouraged! Thanks for the title suggestions too...I'm working on it! Ta ta 


	7. Old Ghosts

Title: If you think of anything, please let me know 'cause I'm kinda bad at this titling thing  
Feedback: Five paragraphs, five words, five letters! I DON'T CARE! I just want something, because I need a reason to keep writing, and much thanks to those of you who have contributed! :)  
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so suing me over copyrights would be a waste of attorney fees. But since I'm kinda sick of repeating myself about who I own and don't own, I'll just say if they weren't in the movie, I own 'em and if they were, then Mr. Luhrman owns 'em.   
Author's Note: I know this is kinda unrealistic and it maybe like stories other people wrote (sorry) but it was a crazy idea I had after watching the movie.  
Summary: I'm not good at this, so I'm just gonna keep you in suspense until you read it ::mwahaaa::  
  
Part Seven  
  
January 20th, 1908  
~ Hotêl La Blanche, Montmartre, France  
It hasn't changed a bit. Christian thought as he dropped his trunk of dust-covered clothing and toiletries on the creaky floors of Flat 4D. It had been Toulouse's old apartment when Christian had been there last, but he learned from the landlady the artist had died in 1901.  
"This is where you lived? You wrote a book with so much beauty living in a place like this?" Stuart asked as he swept a gaze around the rather run-down apartment. Christian walked over to where a hole used to be in the floor. It was now covered with planks of wood, and Christian ran his hand over it.  
"Yes, Stuart, and it used to be worse. This is used to be an opening." Stuart rolled his eyes.  
"Where you get your inspiration I'll never know, chum." He tossed off his jacket and plopped down on a worn, moth-eaten couch. Christian strolled over to a cot on the other side of the room.  
"I'll sleep here, and you can have the bed on the loft." Christian told Stuart as he began removing things from his bag. Stuart bound up the aching stairs to the loft and laughed.  
"My, this is quite a view. You can see Paris...hey! There's the Moulin Rouge!" he shouted, like an excited child. Only he pronounced it "Moolyn Roage". Christian shook his head.  
"It's the MOULIN ROUGE, and yes, you can see almost anything from here. This is why I chose it." He pulled from his bag the final garment, a waistcoat, and took off his trench, which had crusty mud on it.  
Tossing the jacket aside, he stretched his arms. It had been four days since his last decent meal, and frankly, he was famished. Turning to the direction of the loft, Christian called,   
"Stuart, I'm going to the market. Anything you want in particular?" Stuart leaned dangerously far over the weakened railing and shook his fire-red head.  
"No, I'll pick up some din elsewhere. Thanks, chum."   
***  
"Luke, get the baguettes." Nichole DeLoncre instructed her young son, who was seated behind the counter of the store with Lucie playing jax.  
"Yes, mummy." Luke hurried off and Lucie stood carefully as to not disturb the pieces. She sauntered over to the counter and glanced through the uneven glass at the foods beneath it. Just then, Luke's voice filtered in from the back.  
"Mummy, I can't find any!" Nichole groaned.  
"See, Lucie, men cannot care for themselves." She tapped Lucie's nose and was off to aid her son. As Nichole's wide posterior was crossing the threshold into the back beyond a curtain, the jingling of the doorbells sounded, signaling the arrival of a customer.  
Lucie pulled herself onto a stool and gasped when she saw the same man she had the run-in with that morning. Only now his coat was gone and he had no hat.  
"Bonjour." She greeted, flashing her melting smile. He looked up and grinned, shy yet wise.  
"Oh, we meet again." He laughed and that same flicker of emotion flashed through his eyes. She nodded.  
"Yes, we do. What a coincidence." She looked about. "What are you in search of, sir?" he chewed his lip.  
"Have you any crepes?" he asked, and Lucie was momentarily impressed by the knowledge of French foods when his mannerisms and voice all shouted Englishman.   
Lucie hopped off the stool and opened up the door to the bread cabinet. Setting there, cooling from their stint in the oven, were a dozen crepes. Handing him a spatula, Lucie motioned to them.  
"Take as many as you please. They are 12 francs a piece." He nodded, considering this reasonable, and took six. He then handed Lucie 72 francs he had acquired at the bank and as she rang them up, he looked at her thoughtfully.   
"So, what are you doing here in Montmartre?" Lucie asked as the temperamental cash register acted up.  
"I'm helping an old friend. He's an actor here, and I am his agent." Lucie nodded.  
"Where is he performing?" she asked as she handed him his receipt.  
"The Moulin Rouge." He replied, but he said it slowly, as though the very word stuck in his throat. Lucie sensed this, and decided not to mention that her uncle owned it.  
"Well, they're known for great shows, so your friend is lucky." She informed him, still smiling. He nodded.  
"If only." He looked out at the darkening sky. "I best be off. Good day, mademoiselle." He tipped his imaginary hat and she giggled, curtsying in reply.   
***  
As Christian walked back to the La Blanche, he couldn't get that girl's face out of his mind. Her creamy skin, her crystal-clear blue eyes, her pursed pink lips, her uncontrolled yet beautiful raven hair...and the way she spoke...  
But who she reminded him of, he didn't want to think about.  
You've got to get her out of your mind. He told himself as he climbed the stairs of the La Blanche, the dusk settling upon Montmartre behind him.  
But try as he would, Christian couldn't get the face of Satine out of his head...  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Author's Note: Another boring chapter, but they're gonna get better! Bear with me please! Thanks again to reviewers. Reviews are appreciated and encouraged! C-ya when I c-ya  
  
PS: On the suggestion of tHe cRaZy KaCceE I am adding a little translator since I've sort of been using a lot of French:  
  
From Chapter 1:  
Monsuier: Mister Mademoiselle: Miss Madam: Missus Garcon: Boy Fille: Girl  
Bonjour: Hello Cherié: cherished, beloved Merci beaucoup: Thank you very much Bébé: Baby 'Tite cherié: Little dear Japonisme: (You probably know this, but I thought I'd add it anyway) it's the imitation of Japanese shapes, colors, and themes that was popular during this time period in France Étonnant amazing  
  
From Chapter 2:   
Joyeux Anniversaire: Happy Birthday Chahuteuse: can-can dancer Crepe: small, thin, pancake   
  
I'm pretty sure that's all I used so far, but if not, I'll figure it out and add more. Thanks again for the reviews and advice! Ta ta (do I say that A LOT or what?) Hehe 


	8. Fate

Title: If you think of anything, please let me know 'cause I'm kinda bad at this titling thing. But I'm working on it thanks to some suggestions!!!!  
Feedback: Five paragraphs, five words, five letters! I DON'T CARE! I just want something, because I need a reason to keep writing, and much thanks to those of you who have contributed! :)  
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so suing me over copyrights would be a waste of attorney fees. But since I'm kinda sick of repeating myself about who I own and don't own, I'll just say if they weren't in the movie, I own 'em and if they were, then Mr. Luhrman owns 'em.   
Author's Note: I know this is kinda unrealistic and it maybe like stories other people wrote (sorry) but it was a crazy idea I had after watching the movie.  
Summary: I'm not good at this, so I'm just gonna keep you in suspense until you read it ::mwahaaa::  
  
Part Eight  
  
January 20th, 1908  
~ Hotêl La Blanche, Montmartre, France  
Stuart tiptoed down the aching steps that led to the main floor of the apartment. It was well past midnight, and he wasn't about to wake Christian. The poor chum had been writing for hours when he returned to the market. Endlessly, as though there was no tomorrow.  
Maybe it wasn't such a good idea, bringin' him here...Stuart thought as he slicked back his red hair in the cracked, grimy mirror in the kitchen. His eyes wandered over to Christian, now lying haphazardly like a rag doll over the side of his bed. The doors to the balcony was open and the journal Christian was anatomically attached to was lying on a table outside. Stuart wondered what he'd done with the journal. It was sacred to him, and an itch inside of Stuart wanted to read it. However, he knew that would be possibly the worst thing he could have done. So he curbed the impulse.  
After close inspection of himself, Stuart decided he looked good enough to sneak about town unnoticed. He'd picked himself up some clothing and accessories he saw locals wearing so that he could inspect the area without being branded an outsider. He intended to visit the Moulin Rouge that evening, incognito to scope out the place.  
As he arranged his red hair to his satisfaction, he scrawled a note to Christian and shoved it in a crack in the mirror. Loud clamor and excited voices came from outside, signaling the opening of the Moulin Rouge. With a rush of adrenaline, he swooped out of the apartment, forgetting to close the door.  
***  
"Once more, Luke, oh please just once more!" Lucie begged as she and Luke sat in her dimly lit bedroom playing cards. They were supposed to be in bed but Luke's newly imported cards were too much of a temptation.  
"Lucie, you know you'll just take all my chocolate!" he bemoaned. She rolled her eyes.  
"You ARE a sore loser! Just one more game and we can go to bed!" Luke rolled his own eyes this time and dealt out two cards to them both. Lucie examined hers with a determined brow and then held out her palm.  
"Hit me." He slapped another card into her hand, and she squealed with joy.  
"Twenty-one! Ha ha! What've you got?" she peered over and he pushed his two kings down into the deck.  
"Twenty. Now can we please go to sleep?" he asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Lucie jumped up and stretched.  
"Oh Luke! No sense of adventure! Let's go watch the dancers..." she grabbed his arm but he pulled away.  
"Lucie, it's not that I don't have a sense of adventure, I just am tired! I have to work with my Poppa tomorrow and he'll bring a paddle to my behind if I'm not rested up!" Lucie put her hands on her hips and sneered.  
"Chicken!"  
"Nu-uh! I'm no chicken! You're the chicken!" he protested weakly. She smiled.  
"If you're not such a chicken, then let's slip out and go up into the Elephant!" his eyes grew wide.  
"Lucie! That's even off limits for grown-ups! What if we walk in on something?" Lucie waved her hand dismissively.  
"Oh nonsense! They won't be using it tonight! C'mon, let's go!"  
***  
Pierre Raphel watched from beneath the brim of his greasy derby hat as three scantily clad prostitutes swaggered down the alley, not quite beautiful enough for the Moulin Rouge but beautiful enough to have a clientele. But sex was not his focus tonight.  
He drew a match up the side of the brick building he leaned upon and lit a flimsy cigarette. He then slid his hands into the pockets of his dingy overcoat and looked up at Hotél La Blanche's second floor, and a particular balcony.  
He'd seen the rich redcoats come in and had been observing them both for the past few hours. They had money, no doubt. Probably just some poor rich kids looking to become a starving artist.  
If they had the slightest...Pierre shrugged it off. This would teach them. He extinguished his cigarette and strolled casually across the street and stood just below the balcony. He peered around the block, making sure no one that was any one was watching, and began scaling the building. With the slippery stucco, it took him awhile to gain grip enough to propel himself upward.  
***  
The Elephant was empty now, still lavish but almost sickeningly so. Lucie got bored easily, but was not so eager to return to the recesses of her bedroom. So she and a nervous, hen-like Luke strolled out of the main Moulin Rouge gate.  
"Lucie, please let's go back! What if my Poppa gets up for water, glances out the window and sees us out at this ungodly hour!" Luke pleaded.  
"Honestly, it's nine o'clock!" Lucie strolled forward, cautious herself. As they made their way down the avenue, she noticed a flash of movement on the Hotél La Blanche South wall. She frowned and squinted.  
"Why, Luke, would you look at that!" she gasped. Luke came up beside her.  
"Oh my! That's that Scalawag, Raphel! C'mon Lucie, let's go get help!" He turned to run but she caught his wrist.  
"By the time we told an adult and explained our presence he'd have made off with whatever he seeks and we'd have our ears boxed for lying and sneaking out! Now, hurry and give me that stone! He reached that balcony!" Luke obeyed, with no other option, and Lucie broke into a run. When she was just about there, she stopped and screamed,  
"You, there! Raphel! Get down!" and with all the might her little arm could muster she pitched the stone up and it hit Raphel with a definite thunk. His eyes crossed and he fell over, nearly unconscious but catching himself so that when he fell he landed on his feet. He stood unevenly and started for Lucie, but then heard the sounds of nearby neighbors. He turned and dashed down the Avenue.   
"Oh my good God, Lucie, you almost killed him!" Luke cried. Lucie shook her head.  
"I wonder if I'd be doing any great injustice." Luke slapped his forehead.  
"Blessed Virgin! I want to go back!" He turned and began walking back but a fallen object from the balcony caught Lucie's eye. She moved toward it, a book of some kind, and picked it up.  
"Now what!?" Luke demanded.  
"Look at this! It's a book!" Lucie opened it and began to read.  
  
I came to Paris today, in the summer of 1899, the summer of love...  
  
"That's all good and well but I think the coppers are coming!" Luke took Lucie's arm and pulled her along. Lucie let him, for her new discovery was exciting. It was opening even more doors than she could have imagined...  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Author's Note: Yeah, it's been a WHILE since I last wrote. But serious writer's block, I guess. Well, enough of this. Next chapter... 


	9. Secrets

Okay, I've done a LOT of these stupid intros so if you don't get what I'm about by now, you have problems. So just enjoy the story! And review! Even if you just want to tell me how bad this is, REVIEW si'vous plait!  
  
Part Nine  
  
Early January 21st, 1908  
~Hotél La Blanche, Montmartre, France  
Christian pressed harshly on his morning-sensitive eyes and sat his aching back up, taking in his surroundings.   
Montmartre  
Hotel  
Bed  
Agent  
Okay, I think I'm better now. He thought as he swung his stiff legs up and stretched his limbs. The bed for lack of better word had not exactly produced the most comfortable sleeping experience, so he staggered around for awhile before he realized that the balcony doors were open, the table out there was overturned, and Stuart was not home.  
What in God's name...he sat the table back up slowly, kicking off some broken glass from the lantern that had been sitting upon it. Then, he ventured to the railing and saw a piece of leather lying on the ground below. He squinted and furrowed his brow deeply when he realized what it was. His journal.  
Then, it hit him.   
  
I was tired...I was looking out over Montmartre writing in my journal...suddenly the fatigue was overwhelming and I decided to take a nap and return later...I fell asleep for the night...  
  
But how did the cover of it end up on the ground? Then, he remembered the most odd dream he had had that night.  
  
I was alseep...I heard a clattering and scream...I saw the table flip over, the lantern fall, and the journal...the man fell and ran...  
  
Christian slapped his forehead. Someone had tried to break into their apartment! But someone had stopped them and in a panic they had knocked the journal off of the balcony. And then someone took it...  
Christian felt a sick feeling in his chest. Not a doctor kind of sick, but the kind of sick you feel when you're punched in the chest. That journal was the most accurate thing he had that took him back to the old days...to Satine...  
After a moment, he took a breath.  
Then all the power to whomever ends up with it...  
***  
After Luke had groggily been returned home, Marie was busy with the girls, and Harold was preparing for a visit from some actor, Lucie slid underneath her high-held cedar bed and with the aid of a small candle, she flipped open her sacred finding.  
Since the outside journey was harrying and Luke was practically passed out, she had not had a chance to access this overwhelming escapade until now. Her fingers trembled for some unknown reason as she opened the front cover-consequentially the only cover-and read the inscription.  
In thick, bold, scrawling letters:  
This belongs to:  
Christian  
  
Start date: 1899  
End Date:   
  
She leaned her head back. Hmm...what a name. He was probably a smart man. Well-read, well spoken, and well bred. So much could be in a name. Ceasing that thought, she continued reading:  
  
I came to Paris today, in the summer of 1899, the summer of love. The world is being swept up in a Bohemian revolution, and I have come to be a part of it. Yes, I have come to live a penniless existence and write about truth, beauty, freedom, and love. Problem is, I've never been in love. Well, maybe that will change...  
  
Lucie smiled. He was smart all right, but a hopeless romantic too.   
How odd yet endearing for a man to hold such an obsession with love. She thought as she read farther. Apparently, this Christian was of English heritage, with a stern, strict father. He was young, possibly 19 or 20, and had come only to write.  
A few paragraphs later, a comical situation unfolded with a dwarf dressed as a nun and a group of alcoholic hippies writing a play. Lucie couldn't contain her laughter at the absurdity Christian wrote about. One name stuck out. Toulouse. For some reason, it sounded familiar...  
She wracked her brain for a few minutes but decided to think about it later. This romantic, intelligent Christian was also quite strategic. He was plotting to get a job as a writer at the Moulin Rouge!   
Wow...she pondered this. Maybe I should show this to Uncle Harold...she decided to get her free-reign of it first. As she flipped the page to read the rest of the plot, the opposing page made her entire body freeze in shock and her throat constrict like a steel door.   
Draw with a skilled hand in charcoal was a face...a woman's face...her MOTHER'S face! And right below it was SATINE, written with a steady penmanship.  
Lucie threw the book away and jumped out from beneath her bed. She stood on the cool wood floor, the dampness on her feet and hands thickening. Her heart hammered like a marching parade in her ears as she tried to comprehend what was happening.  
Whoever Christian is...he knew my mother...she sunk down to her knees and sat back on her heels. A million things flooded her mind. They clattered around so that they practically clouded her vision. She pushed them away and crawled over to the thrown journal. She removed the page with her mother's drawing and tried to focus on it.  
It had been done with care, and at a more casual moment of her life. Her hair was up in a sloppy upsweep, her curls hanging around her face. She had an unsure, innocent smile on her face and was twirling a lock of her hair on a finger. Her eyes were playful, and a pang inside Lucie stabbed her, and a sudden realization made her body hot.  
Could this man...be my father?  
***  
Christian splashed a little cologne on his cheeks as the front door opened with a clumsy bang. He leaned over to catch a glimpse of the source of the sound, and shook his head at the sight of a drunk, rumpled, and absinthe-ridden Stuart. He strode down from the broken mirror and shook his head disdainfully.  
"Stuart, what in God's name possessed you to go out and get wasted the day before your biggest interview of your life?" he demanded.  
"This beautiful lil' lass...named Nina...I think..." he wavered and Christian caught him, aiding him to a semi-seated position on Christian's makeshift bed.  
"Well, that was just brilliant. Sit here while I fix you some tea and get a wet rag." Stuart blinked rapidly as Christian hurried to do the tasks and noticed the bolted door.  
"Shucks, Chris, why you tryin' to bolt me out?" he asked. Christian brought the wet rag and tea over to him.  
"Someone tried to break in last night. They stole my journal." Stuart took a sip of tea and contorted his face in disgust.  
"Well that blimey sucks! I'm sorry chap. I should have locked the doors before I left." He took another swig of tea.  
"That's all right, Stuart. It will probably be for the best."  
***  
"Yes, now Tomas, make sure you have the contracts printed up by four today!" Harold shouted from his office to the gopher of the club, Tomas. Lucie side stepped the chipmunk-like man and entered Harold's office slowly.  
"Ah, my little cherub! What can I do for you?" he asked excitedly, smiling widely as he often did whenever Lucie entered the room.  
"Uncle Harold, I need to talk to you about something serious." Harold knitted his wild brows.  
"This isn't about where babies come from, right?" Lucie cocked an eyebrow.  
"No...but don't let me forget to ask that one later." Harold came around the desk and pulled out a chair for Lucie.  
"Okay then, Lucie Diamond, what's on your mind?" She came around and sat on the edge of the seat, smoothed her frock, and took a breath.  
"It's about my mother. Actually...my father." Harold's ever-ready guard went up.  
"Oh Dolly, why do you need to know anything about your father? He left Paris so long ago..." Lucie shook her head.  
"Well, that may be so. I just need to know...what was his name?" She was twirling the lace of her sleeve in her fingers as she watched Harold's facial expressions.  
"Well...honey...it was so long ago...it could have been-,"  
"-Christian?" she finished. The pause in Harold's voice and the stone look in his eyes confirmed what she already knew.   
"What...how did you find out?" she was about to spill the journal story but for some reason instinct told her to keep it to herself.  
"One of the girls was talking about it the other day...I was eavesdropping...then, the curiosity...well it's not important. I just wanted to know." She stood and bound to the door.  
"Are you sure there's nothing more?" Harold asked worriedly.  
"No, I'm fine Uncle Harold." She assured him, flashing her winning smile. He returned it and as she skipped down the hall, Harold was left with an uneasy feeling.  
***  
"Are you ready, Chris?" Stuart called from the landing outside the apartment. Christian studied his broken image in the abused mirror. The dark circles under his eyes were there, but less noticeable. His hair was tamed and his beard shaved clean. He looked more presentable than he had in months.  
But one look at her and it may all come undone... the pessimistic part of him screamed.  
"Yes, Stuart, as ready as ever!"  
***  
The two men walked down the Avenue de Clichy with an unusual procession, much like a funeral. Christian took in ever sight, committing it to memory, as he was sure the events of today would be remembered. Oh, if he had any idea.  
When they reached the entrance, Stuart but his hand on the door and peered at Christian through mostly sober eyes.  
"Chap, if you aren't ready for this, I can do it myself..." he warned. Christian pushed his hand away.  
"Open the door, Stuart. It's time." Stuart swallowed, and without taking his eyes off of Christian's face, he pushed the thick, ornate door open and revealed the audience seating area.  
Christian's head felt hot and his neck tingly as he recalled the last night he'd been there. The crowd clamoring before the first act...the crackling nerves behind the scenes...that pompous little Duke seated right down front.  
Realizing a moment had gone by without dialogue, Christian turned and removed his hat.  
"Let's do this, Stuart."  
***  
"Hey, Rosette, who's that dashing fella comin' down de isle there?" Monique asked. Rosette wedged her head into the window from the dressing rooms that over looked the stage and audience.  
"By gosh, Monique, the red head is the new actor!"  
"No, the other one!" Rosette squinted at the impeccably dressed, dark man walking beside the red head.  
"I suppose that's his agent. Looks awfully familiar..." Nini scowled from the back corner.  
"All men look familiar to you, Rosette." She mumbled. But nonetheless she shoved her tiny form between the over weight Monique and the bulky Rosette. Scrunching up her face as she studied him, it hit her like a ton of bricks who it was.  
"Well slap my behind and call me Charlie!" she cried.  
"What! Who is it?"  
"You garls rem'ber Miss Gorgeous Satine and her weepy-eyed writa friend?"  
"Yes...?"  
"Well, that's Shakespeare himself! In the flesh! Here...again." Nini cackled delightedly as she stepped down. Monique put her chubby hands on her fleshy hips.  
"Why is that funny?" she demanded.  
"Oh, Monique, my poor, ignorant, stup'd Monique. That bloke out der is Little Miss Wonderful's father." Nini explained as she twisted her hair into a chignon.  
"You mean Lucie's?"  
"No, the other little urchin that's been running amok for the past eight years through this place! Of COURSE it's Lucie!"  
"So what's going to happen?" Rosette asked as Christian and Stuart made their way out of sight and towards Harold's office.  
"I dunno, Rosie, but it's gonna require a whole lotta explaining on Ol' Harry's part."  
***  
As they processed up the rickety spiral stairs to Harold's office, Christian had to mentally pat himself on the back. He was being more composed than he could have hoped. No sign of Satine or anyone else for that matter, and with each moment his strength built up so that if he did see her, he wouldn't crumble.  
When they reached the top he stopped Stuart.  
"This is it, Stu." He announced and lifted his fist to the ancient, dungeon-like door, knocking three times.  
"Come in, come in!" a jovial, all too familiar voice called from the other side. Stuart opened the door and stepped in first.  
"Oh! Mr. Matthews! It's a delight to see you! I trust your journey was good!" The barrel-chested, flaming-haired, slick-tongued Harold Zidler greeted. Stuart nodded and removed his hat. Christian was out of Harold's view, but it wouldn't have mattered because he was so engrossed in Stuart.  
"Yes, my journey was well, Mr. Zidler. Lemme introduce you to my agent, Mr. Christian Doyle." Christian stepped out from behind Stuart, and as the shock filled Harold's eyes, he slowly removed his hat and nodded.  
"Good afternoon, Harold." Harold stood, dumfounded, and a full minute had to have passed before he stuttered.  
"C-C-Christian...what a surprise." He held out his hand and Christian shook it, the formality feeling alien to the two men. Stuart studied their faces.  
"My friend Chris here tells me you two worked together, so I guess the usual pleasantries are unnecessary?" When Harold didn't respond, Christian did.  
"Yes, Stu. Mr. Zidler and I are VERY well acquainted." Harold nodded and finally smiled, returning to normal.  
"Well, gentlemen, let's sign all the necessary paperwork..."  
"Hold on: I don't know what the story is." Christian interrupted and then stifled a laugh. Hopefully Harold knew this time, and they didn't have to begin singing and dancing and ad-libbing. He knew what Christian was thinking and winked, then filling in the blanks.  
"It's an epic adventure of this man, Otis, who lives in a far away island. He is called upon to fight in a war in another island, and goes, leaving his new wife and infant child. The point is to get to Troyos, and rescue a kidnapped Princess, Ellen. On his way there he combats millions of evils, and then he must get her and come back. On the way home, he fights different obstacles. For instance a Cycolops and raging storm. When he finally returns home, his son is grown and they must get to know each other, but not before battling some of Otis's old enemies." Christian stroked his chin. It sounded fascinating.   
"And what is it called?"  
"The Otis Sea." Harold replied proudly. Christian looked at Stuart.  
"And he is to be Otis?" Stuart chest puffed out.  
"Yes, chap, I am." Christian nodded.  
"It's rather interesting. All right, where are those contracts?" Harold presented them, and Christian read them over with Stuart.  
"Two years is a long time...if Stuart should injure himself, will you house him and nurse him to health?"   
"Yes, we shall. We have employed an in-house nurse." Christian nodded.  
"And he gets 20 percent of its earnings?" Harold nodded.  
"Yearly, that is." Christian chewed his lip.  
"And he will get two vacations, whenever he chooses?" Harold agreed slowly.  
"I suppose."  
"Then I suppose this is all in order, Stuart." Stuart beamed like a child at Christmas.  
"Wonderful! Now where do I sign?" Harold put small Xs to designate the areas, and after Stuart did so, they shook hands.  
"Welcome aboard!"  
***  
As the men spoke, Lucie crouched by the keyhole of the room, her tiny eyes straining to make out images. In her concentration, she didn't catch the agent's name, or the actor's.  
She wasn't particularly interested in either of these new men in the Moulin Rouge, because they didn't have any children her age. Some actors had children they brought with them, but neither of these men did. Deciding it wasn't worth all this effort and the hurt in her eyes, Lucie stood up and strolled down the hall to Marie's office. Marie was busying herself with categorizing the make up.  
"Aunt Marie?" Marie's intensely outlined hazel eyes shifted up to see Lucie.  
"Why g'morning, child. Whatcha doin'?" she asked, setting aside the case of blush. Lucie went to the nearby mirror and looked at her reflection.  
"I'm so bored! Luke is working for his father, and Uncle Harold is busy with the new actor." She stood on her tiptoes and pulled a black top hat with a thick band of diamonds at the base and placed it on her head. She tilted it so it partially hid the one side of her face and blew a kiss at the mirror. Marie, who had been scurrying around, stopped and observed Lucie.  
"Goo'ness, child! You're acting like Sarah Bernhart!" Marie lifted the hat off of Lucie and she pouted, but to no avail. Marie put it on the top shelf and pulled out a dust rag.  
"Now, run along and play, or you're liable to be hands and knees on the floor cleanin'!" And with that, Lucie was off.  
***  
As Harold and Stuart went around for a tour Christian had seen a million times, Christian studied the posters outside Harold's office. They were japonisme, mostly, and Christian knew that Toulouse was laughing wherever he was.  
As he made his way down the hall, his eyes fell on the advertising poster for Spectacular, Spectacular. Inside of anger, hurt, or resentment, he studied it with fascination. It was of the Argentinean and Satine, with Harold in the background and a splash of colors around them.   
It was then that it occurred to Christian that Satine might very well be in the play. He had to find out.  
Tiptoeing down the hall to what used to be an old dressing room. As he did, the door flew open and the lovable obese woman, Monique, stepped out.  
"Oh my gracious!" she cried. Christian stepped back and nodded.  
"I'm sorry I startled you, Monique. Do you remember me?" he asked softly.  
"Of course! You're Christian, Lu-I mean that writer!" she corrected Christian frowned.  
"Yes, of Spectacular, Spectacular. Can I ask you a question?" she nodded, her fake-bleach-blonde curls bouncing.   
"Is Satine still working here?" her dark eyes turned misty.  
"Oh...I shouldn't be the one to tell you..." she looked around. Christian, alarms in his head going wild, grabbed her arm.  
"You've GOT to!" he begged. Monique blinked back tears and chewed her lip.  
"Well, Christian...not long after you left...Satine...she was sick..." Christian's eyes grew wider with each word and he clutched Monique's shoulders.  
"WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?"  
"She...died." Christian felt as if a huge anvil had been thrown onto his chest. His breath could only come in short gasps and he had to grip the wall for support.  
"H-how?" he demanded breathlessly.  
"Consumption. She'd been sick for a long time." Christian felt his anger and resentment being washed away and replaced with a crippling sadness. Monique put her heavy hand on his shoulder.  
"Should I fetch your friend?" his jaw fell slack and all he could do was shake his head in the negative.   
"I'll be fine...I just need to be alone." He muttered. Monique watched him worriedly as he walked slowly down the steps.   
***  
After wandering the club for fifteen more minutes and being scolded for being a nuisance five times, Lucie settled to take a walk out through Montmartre and try to get Luke to take a break.  
As she bound up the isle towards the door, she noticed it was open a crack and there was a dark man seated out there, with his hands in his face, crying. She paused by the door and watched him.   
It was that same man she ran into on the street, the one that bought the crepes. Now, he was here.  
"Excuse me, monsuier? Are you all right?" she asked softly. He turned his tear-stained face and looked at her, almost laughing.  
"You seem to turn up everywhere I do, young lady." He turned back and ceased crying, just watching. Not waiting for an invitation, Lucie settled beside him.  
"Why are you crying?" she asked plainly, not apologizing for her nosiness.   
"I found-I lost someone very...precious to me." He replied solemnly, with a thousand-yard stare plastered on his face. Oh, Lucie hated that.   
"I'm very sorry for you." She informed him. "Who?"  
"A very good, beautiful friend."  
"A girlfriend?" He didn't seemed fazed by her blatant prying. He only nodded.  
"Something like that." Lucie patted his shoulder.  
"When I say I'm sorry, I mean it. I'm not just saying that because I don't know what else to say like other people. I know exactly how you feel." He looked at her thoughtfully, smiling.  
"You're a very honest little girl." She shrugged.  
"I suppose I am. Did your friend work here?" she asked, motioning with her hand to the club. He looked up at it with a forlorn expression.  
"Yes." he told her. He seemed uncomfortable, and Lucie guessed that he and whomever he was missing were more than friends.  
"I might have known her. I've lived here all my life." She explained, again motioning to the club.  
"You've lived IN the Moulin Rouge your entire life?"  
She nodded. "Ever since I was six months old."   
"How did that come to pass?" he asked, his own inherent curiosity sparked.  
"My Uncle Harold owns it." She answered simply.  
"Harold Zidler is your uncle? I thought he cut all ties with family." She put up her hands.  
"Actually, he's not my "uncle" by the regular definition of the word. You see, he sort of raised my mother since she was my age. So when I was born she became unavailable. So Uncle Harold took me in." he looked about.  
"That's a side to Harold I didn't know existed." He muttered. She frowned.  
"You know my uncle?"  
"Yes. Very well. I was a writer in one of his first plays." As he spoke, the word writer caught Lucie's attention. A writer...in the first play...at the Moulin Rouge...She couldn't contain herself.  
"Satine!" she blurted, instantly slapping her hands to her mouth in embarrassment. He turned quickly, his eyes wide.  
"What did you just say?" he asked, moving closer. She took a deep breath.  
"Satine...that's my mother's name." She replied slowly. He held her shoulders urgently.  
"When is your birthday?"   
"February 14th, 1900!" he suddenly let go and sat back.  
"What about your father?" she chewed her lip.  
"He left Moulin Rouge before I was born. I never knew him!" Christian stared at her for a long moment and then stood.  
"We've got to talk to Harold."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Author's Note: FINALLY THE SECRET IS OUT! Next chapter...and remember:  
BE KIND!  
REVIEW! 


	10. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

Like I said in the last one: I AM PLUMB TUCKERED OUT OF WRITING INTROS! So just read and review, please!!!!!  
  
Part 10  
  
January 21st, 1908  
~Moulin Rouge, Montmartre, France  
"Christian, please relax!" Harold coaxed as he, Lucie, and Christian stood in the hallway. Christian took an angry breath and stepped back. Harold cautiously bent down and held Lucie's face.  
"Dolly, why don't you stay out here while Uncle Harold talks to this man, okay?" Lucie was about to object, but the look in Harold's eyes forced her to acquiesce. Harold then signaled Christian into his office.  
When the door was firmly shut, Christian whirled around.  
"HAROLD! What the hell is going on?" he demanded angrily. Harold stepped behind the desk and put his palms up.  
"Christian, please..."  
"Is that girl my daughter?"  
"Christian..."  
"God damn it, Harold give me a straight answer!" he roared, louder than even Harold. The windowpanes practically shook and then entire club was in an unnatural silence. Harold saw no choice but the truth.  
"Yes. She is your and Satine's daughter." Christian's face contorted in disbelief and shock.  
"How...is that possible? That would mean Satine was pregnant..."  
"Yes, when you left. She was nearly five months along." Christian shook his head.  
"That's not possible! Her and I...I was with her a few nights before I left...she was NOT five months along! I've seen five-month-pregnancies!" He ranted. Harold shook his head.  
"Keep in mind, Christian, she was dying! Her body was deteriorating. If she hadn't been pregnant, weight loss would have been more obvious. But since the baby was in there, she probably did appear normal." Christian rubbed his forehead.  
"But why did it take her so long to figure it out...I mean, the signs..."  
"When she informed me, I asked the same question. She hadn't been having her...female ways...for longer than she'd even known you. The doctor than examined her when she passed out one night told her, but not us. That was only a few nights before you left. The night we found out she was dying." Christian blinked.  
"Why didn't she tell me?" Harold shrugged.  
"Who knows? Satine had reasons for everything she did. She didn't even tell me until after opening night."  
"So you're absolutely sure that little girl is my child?"  
"One hundred percent."  
"Not the Duke's?"  
"Satine didn't sleep with the Duke until after she realized." Christian leaned back on the chair he had occupied.  
"Why didn't she tell me? I could've-"  
"-done nothing. Satine had been dying for a long time. There was a little chance at the time she would even live to carry the baby full term. She actually didn't...Lucie was a month and some early." Christian sighed.  
"This is unbelievable...why in God's name didn't you contact me?"   
"Satine was in bad shape. She didn't want to cause you more pain by seeing her die. Besides, we weren't sure until the moment Lucie was born that she would in fact BE born. And we didn't contact you after her birth because we had no idea where you were! I didn't even try."  
"Remind me someday to beat you black and blue for that."  
"I thought I was sparing you. I was wrong, obviously, but I thought so at the time." Christian sighed.  
"I have a...child." He repeated that to himself. Harold laughed.  
"Yes, and quite a child, at that. More spirit and stubbornness than that body should hold." Christian smiled.  
"And honesty, too."  
"Charming, when she wants to be." Just then, the door opened and Lucie stood in the doorway, her little fists shoved on her hips.  
"You don't have to shut me out if you're just going to talk about me." She informed them as she sat down on the chair across from Harold and next to Christian's. He studied her with more fascination than he had before. Her resemblance to Satine was more powerful now than ever.  
"Christian, may I present Lucie Caroline DuBois." Harold held out his hand. Then, he turned to Lucie.   
"And Lucie, may I present...your father." Lucie's eyebrows shot up as she studied Harold for sincerity. Then she averted her gaze to Christian. Their eyes met, and they clicked. Before Christian could utter a word, Lucie leapt from the chair and landed on his lap, flung her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek. Then she pulled away and put her hands on her hips once again.  
"It's about time you GENTLEMEN got around to telling me!" Christian had to laugh at her serious scowl and scolding voice. He held her on his lap and kissed her forehead.  
"Lucie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Author's Note: Wow, I bet you all are relieved. So if you are, REVIEW! Thanks bunches. Cheerio! 


	11. Enemies...

Intros: bad. Read and review but please don't sue.  
  
Part 11  
  
February 7th, 1908  
~ The Doyle Residence, Llwellyn, Wales  
"Mistress Amelia Doyle?" a starched, uniformed messenger asked with a crisp, British accent. Amelia nodded cautiously as she pulled her shawl tighter around her to ward off the wind.  
"Yes?" he held out a parchment envelope.  
"This is delivered from Paris, France." The moment Paris left the man's rosy lips, Amelia nearly screamed. Christian!  
"Thank you!" she signed for it and grabbed it, hurrying into the house.  
She plopped down onto a ivory-colored silk fainting chair and hurriedly peeling the wax off of it. She could hardly concentrate on the first two lines:  
  
Dear Amelia,February 6, 1908  
Hello, my dear sister! How are you doing? How is mother? I hope you are all doing well. This is your dear older brother (in case you forgot), writing to you from my tiny apartment in Montmartre, France. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write to you and inform you of my well being, but it's been quite exciting here, for more than one reason.  
Stuart's play, The Otis Sea, is starting out with rocky rehearsals, but it seems to be coming together. He get twenty percent, and I get fifteen percent of what he gets. It's getting a lot of publicity, so the earnings look to be awesome.  
Now for the most shocking news. Now please, read this before fainting or screaming.  
I told you about Satine, and a brief overview of my times in Montmartre eight years ago. Well, it turns out that Satine gave birth to a child a few months later. My child.  
I hope you're not unconscious on the floor. It was a little girl, and Satine's uncle has been raising her. She is seven (to be eight on Valentine's Day) years old, and is named Lucie Caroline.   
It's been amazing, adjusting to having a little girl. She is a genius, I swear. She's got the most amusing sense of humor and is so clever, she reminds me of you. She can be as charming and devious as you too. You girls will have fun running circles around me, when I arrive home with her.  
As for when I shall return home, that is up in the air. I may come home in a few months, but I'm not sure. It will be at least a month before I even visit. If you and mother need anything, be it money or anything, please write to me at this address:  
Christian Doyle  
82 Boulevard de Clichy  
Montmartre, France 132435-242  
I have also enclosed a few French silks and laces, plus some thread. Maybe you can make yourself some nice dresses. Actually, just try and make yourself a dress. Love you both. Kisses!  
Christian  
  
PS: these papers are for Bebe. They are for our divorce.  
  
Amelia's eyes were soaked with tears of joy when she was done reading. She rubbed her eyes with tissues and leaned back in the chair, contemplating what she read.  
A little girl! Oh, Christian has always wanted a child! And my first niece! Mother will be thrilled to have a grandchild! How fantastic!   
Amelia also wasn't exactly heart-broken that Christian was divorcing Bebe. It was becoming more excepted in Wales, and it would be better for him not to have that awful woman around. She then jumped up, eager to inform Katharine of her grandchild.  
  
February 8th, 1908  
~ The Merriman Residence, Welshpool, Wales  
Amelia loved visits to her best friend, Karen Merriman. She was a childhood of friend of Amelia's and had always held a huge crush on Christian since they were little girls spying on him in the back yard from Amelia's bedroom window. Now, Karen was married, but still held a child's adoration for Christian. And as usual, when Amelia visited, they would chat about their lives, but somehow-and not with subtlety-Karen would steer the conversation to Christian's escapades.  
"So, how is that dashing brother of yours, Ammie?" Karen asked as they sipped honey tea, Amelia's favorite.  
"Oh, he's doing absolutely fantastic! He's gone to Paris and is working as an agent for an up-and-coming actor. And guess what!" she added, confidentially.  
"Ooh, what?" Amelia tried to modify the story, for despite Karen's lovableness, she was a horrible gossip.  
"Christian...you remember when he left for Montmartre the first time, almost eight years ago?"   
"Yes..."  
"Well, he eloped while he was there! But then he was forced to come back, for father was sick. While he was gone, his wife delivered a baby! His BABY! But she couldn't get word to Christian and died after the birth!" Karen's green eyes were the size of tea saucers.  
"Great balls of fire! Christian has a little baby!" Amelia beamed proudly.  
"Yes, a little girl!" Karen leaned back.  
"How astonishing! How did he find out?"  
"I'm not sure, but it's a small city. She's eight years old and her name is Lucie." Karen laughed.  
"Well am I jealous! You're lucky, Amelia! A little niece!" Amelia nodded.  
"Oh yes, I know! And not only that...He's DIVORCING Bebe!" Karen's jaw fell.  
"My goodness, he's just a busy little boy, isn't he!" just then, Lucius, her huge butler entered the room.  
"I'm sorry to interrupt, mistresses, but Mistress Karen, Duke Richard Merriman of Conway has arrived." Karen's beautiful face contorted.  
"Ach. Oh, I'm sorry, Amelia. I forgot, Peter's brother was coming today." Amelia stood.  
"That's quite all right, Karen. I should head back." Karen held up her hand.  
"Oh, no, Amelia, PLEASE stay!" she leaned in and whispered, "he is the most insufferable, horny bastard I have ever met!" Amelia cackled with delight.  
"Oh, then please LET me stay!" she laughed. Karen shook her head.  
"Lucky duck. You're hemorrhoid of the house was already removed!" Amelia cackled once again, and picked up her bag and slung her cloak around her shoulders. The women made their way to the door, where a puny, well-dressed, weasel-look-alike man stood. He had a big head and had greased his blond hair back, and had the narrowest face ever with big teeth. Amelia gulped as he looked up and down her body, as if he knew what she looked like without her undergarments on.  
"Um, Amelia Doyle of Llwellyn, meet Duke Richard Merriman of Conway." Amelia begrudgingly held her hand out as the Weasel kissed it.  
"Ah, beauty does exist." He purred. Amelia pulled away and signaled Val, her coachman.  
"Thank you, your Excellency. I must be going. It's been a pleasure, Karen, and my dear Duke." She shuffled away to the carriage, her skin burning in the place he kissed her.  
When she sat down, Val turned to face her.  
"What's the matter, Mistress Amelia?"  
"Just drive, Val."  
***  
Karen watched with disdain as her obnoxious brother-in-law practically sniffed around all of the food all over the table. She had prepared it extra special, for his scrutinizing eyes were never resting. Her anger must have been obvious, for her husband Peter touched her hand. She averted her eyes and took another drink of Bourbon.  
"So, dear, what did you and Amelia talk about?" Peter asked, taking bites of the asparagus soup. Karen began eating her potatoes.  
"The usual stuff. Old Missus Doyle is still ill, and that Robert Moore man is still trying to court Amelia. She might even consider it!" she mused. Amelia had a slew of admirers, but none quite as attractive or reputable as Robert Moore.  
"That's good. It's time she got hitched. How about good old Christian? Is he still brooding around?" Karen swallowed and shook her head.  
"No, actually, he's returned to France! He's not writing this time, but being an agent! And guess what! It turns out that a woman he knew in Montmartre last time had a child! HIS child!" Peter's eyes grew.  
"But he was married to Bebe!"  
"Well, this woman died after the baby was born. It was taken away and Christian was never notified! Isn't it odd?" Peter nodded.  
"Well at least he'll have something to keep him going if Amelia marries Robert." At this, Richard's eyes rose.  
"This friend...Christian...you say he worked in Montmartre?" Karen nodded.  
"Yes, eight years ago. He wrote a play. He's very smart." Richard's hazel eyes were afire.  
"And you say he fathered a child in Montmartre?" Karen frowned.  
"Yes, weren't you listening?" Richard ignored her and retreated back into his days in Montmartre.  
  
Are you ready, my sweet?...No, my dear Duke, Christian and I must work on this scene...Will you accompany me to dinner, my sweet...No my dear duke, the writer Christian and I must go over the song...  
  
And on and on it went. Could it be the same Christian? Richard was sure of it. How infuriating! They told him that girl was dead! And she had a BABY! How humiliating! She was sleeping with a writer and bore his child when she was supposedly "bound" to Richard!  
He realized then he had been clutching his knife and fork so hard that his knuckles had grown white. He loosened them, and a sadistic plot began to form in his mind. They made a fool of him once, and now they were going to again. No way would they get the chance...  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Author's Note: Mwahaaaaaaa! Let me know what you think! Thanks! 


	12. Birthday Wishes

Read and review, but please don't sue!  
  
Part 12  
  
February 14th, 1908  
~ Moulin Rouge, Montmartre, France  
Lucie was aware of the presence in her room before she even opened her eyes. The door of the former dressing room opened and light snuck in and cast a stream of brightness across her face. A figure then tiptoed in and stood over her. She waited a moment, and then fluttered her eyelids open as if she was just waking up.  
"Good morning, baby." Christian whispered as he kissed her forehead. Lucie smiled.  
"It's my birthday!" she announced gleefully as she sat up. He sat across from her and nodded.  
"I know! You're eighth birthday! You're getting so big!" she shrugged.  
"Yeah. Soon my frocks won't fit!" she mused.  
"Well, maybe if you got some new ones..." he pulled a folded white-and-black mass out and she unfolded it, laughing as she did.  
"Oh Daddy it's the one I found in Paris! Oh, it was so expensive! THANK YOU!" she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He laughed and put her on the floor.  
"Hey, kiddo, you're going to wrinkle it! Now change into it and come downstairs. Marie and Harold prepared a surprise..." he stopped and guilty peered at her. Her mouth dropped.  
"Daddy!" she cried, accenting the last syllable. "You're not supposed to say!" he laughed.  
"I'm sorry, Lucie. Do you forgive me?" she chewed her lip as if contemplating and then nodded.  
"I guess...if you take me to Paris to get earbobs to match!"  
***  
As the party festivities carried on inside the Moulin Rouge, the world outside was shifting. Richard Merriman arrived in Paris that morning with his entourage, including a manservant, Warner Danforth.  
As he stood outside of his Paris townhouse, he took a deep breath of Parisian air into his sleazy little lungs. A moment later he opened his eyes.  
"Isn't it great to be back, Warner? Especially with such exciting plans..." he began to make his way up the steps of the lavish and maze-like home.  
***  
"Thanks to that damn party, I hardly got time to get my shimmies on!" Nini bemoaned as the girls dressed hurriedly to prepare for opening. Monique yanked a skimpy dress up over her bulging rolls of cellulite and sighed.  
"Oh Nini, its Lucie's birthday! It was just one day!" Nini rolled her eyes as she splashed black eyeliner on herself.  
"Spoiled lil' waif!" she muttered as she dressed. Then, Marie burst in and clapped her hands.  
"Okay garls, curtain in two minutes. Nini, you have a caller. Make it snappy, garl!" Nini smiled and bound out of the room. A particular lawyer had been making frequent visits with gifts, and she hoped he'd come back.  
But as she stepped out into the hallway from the dressing room to the alley behind it, she was sourly disappointed when a huge, bulk of a man stepped out. The sparse light in the hallway showed on his face enough so she could recognize him as familiar, but not as who he was. He closed his hand around her throat and whispered.  
"Hush now or I'll snap your neck. Are you Nini?" she nodded, too shocked to scream.  
"You know who Duke Merriman of Conway is?" Nini wracked her brain. Lots of men had claimed to be Dukes, but Merriman stuck out. He was the financier in Spectacular, Spectacular.  
"Yes." she managed. Warner nodded.  
"Good. He's got a business proposition for you. Come with me." He began to pull her and she slapped him. He clutched her arms and pressed a pistol to her chest.  
"COME WITH ME NOW!"  
***  
"Lucie, I am trying to read this story!" Christian protested for the eightieth time as he sat on the couch in Lucie's room with a book on his lap. She was leaping around, wearing a hat she had gotten that day for her birthday, which went with a little costume. She was spinning with her arms outstretched and falling down, laughing each time but sending Christian's heart to his throat.  
"But Daddy this is so much fuuuuuuun!" she squealed as she collapsed on the floor. He shook his head and laughed.  
"Yes, but it looks painful! Plus, if you make much more noise, Uncle Harold or worse yet, AUNT MARIE are going to come paddle you!" she stopped laughing and laid on the floor still, pondering this. She then sat up.  
"You're probably right." She conceded. She crawled back up onto his lap and he continued reading the story.  
"And then, the Candle-a-bra soaked the Beast in water and did his hair up in huge curls!" he continued from the book, Beauty and the Beast. Lucie howled with delight as she looked at the absurd drawing next to the page. Christian chuckled too, though he'd had this story read to him a million times.   
Lucie's laugh was reward enough as Christian kept reading. She would throw her head back freely, close her eyes, and hang her mouth open as the sound exploded. The sound was cheery and endearing, and yet familiar.   
In the few short months Christian had been with Satine, he had seen a similar childish laughter come from her, such as when they rehearsed and he and Toulouse would purposely add idiotic yet funny ad-libs. She too, would toss her head back, squeeze her eyes shut, and her mouth would open so wide all of her perfect teeth would show. Christian knew that Satine had given Lucie he laugh, but better. Satine's was a rare one, for life at the Moulin Rouge and the situations she had been forced into had done things to her. Lucie's was still childish and frequent, and Christian was determined to have it stay that way.  
"And then they lived happily ever after, the end!" he concluded. Lucie sighed.  
"That was beautiful! And her daddy and Mrs. Potts ending up together was good too!" she threw her arms out and grinned. "I wish I was a princess like Belle!" Christian kissed her.  
"You are a princess, darling!" she laughed.  
"I even have a diamond-studded hat!" she added, taking off the costume hat. Christian nodded.  
"And you have the royal...bed!" he announced as he swung her up and placed her under the covers, pulling them up to her chin.  
"Daddy, princesses don't have to go to bed!" she demurred.  
"Oh, yes they do if they expect to go shopping in Paris tomorrow!" she sighed.  
"Blackmail! So cheap!" he stroked her hair.  
"Yes. And effective."  
***  
"You bastard! I hope you know my employer is going to come and find me!" Nini shouted as Warner dragged her into a richly decorated townhouse. She had been screaming, vowing, and swearing the entire way, but the sudden beauty and wealth of the home stopped her.  
"Finally." Warner said under his breath as he took her elbow and led her to the den. She examined the rich trinkets and swiped two out of Warner's view as he shoved her into the den.  
The den was huge, cathedral ceiling, wood-paneled, and decorated with leather furniture and cherry shelves and a desk. Behind the desk was a big leather chair and a fireplace.  
"Duke?" Warner spoke. The chair swiveled the all-too-familiar, pinched, ugly face of Duke Richard of Conway was revealed. His ugliness was enhanced by the ridiculously inappropriate smoking jacket.  
"Nini. Do you remember me?" she put her hands on her hips.  
"I never forget a face. Especially one as ugly as you." He sneered.  
"Charming, as ever. Sit." It was an instruction. Nini did so, after smoothing her dress, which with the background of the room looked extremely preposterous.  
"What do you want, you cad?" she demanded.  
"A business proposition." He replied flatly.   
Nini raised an eyebrow. "I'm only into one business."  
"This isn't too far from what you usually do."   
She leaned forward. "What will I get out of this?"   
"If you do as told, I will make you my wife. I will give you anything you want. All the money, riches, and any man you wish. All you have to do is hold up your end of the bargain. Which includes a small escapade and another thing: give me one child. Boy or girl." He explained calmly.  
"All right, Romeo, you got my attention. What is it?" he stood slowly and folded his hands as he paced behind the desk.  
"I have been humiliated, as you know, by Harold Zidler and Satine twice. He promised me a girl and not only did I only sleep with her once, she was dallying with a penniless writer and bore his child. Then, I was fooled into believing she was dead. I want to destroy that man's life and the only way I can do that is to get the deeds to the Moulin Rouge and flatten it!" he paused, his fists so heavy now the knuckles were white and spittle was coming from the corners of his mouth.  
"Fascinating. What exactly do I have to do with this?" Richard smiled.  
"Satine had a brat with that writer, correct?" Nini nodded. "Deliver her to me. I will hold her ransom. In return I will demand the deeds." Nini's eyes were wide. This man was a genius! Of course Harold and Christian would bend over backwards for their little precious bastard!  
"And in exchange you marry me, give me lots of money, and 'low me to sleep with who I choose?" Richard nodded.  
"And whatever else you want. I want those deeds and will do anything to get them." She smiled.  
"I can relate to that." She thought for moment. The Moulin Rouge was her home, and a small, SMALL part of her felt loyalty. But then bitterness and sadness washed it away with one big swipe. Memories came back. Satine being the star...her status stolen...her baby murdered...Satine's treated like royalty...being forced to moan fakely as rich sickos got their jollies...  
"I'll do it." Richard smiled, his buckteeth gleaming in the firelight.  
"Good. Now we must figure out when. When is the child least chaperoned?" Nini pondered. Christian was taking her shopping tomorrow to Ferrier Square. It would be packed, and the rambunctious little brat would most likely get separated. It would be an easy grab.  
"Tomorrow he's taking her shopping to Ferrier. It'll be crowded." Richard smiled.  
"I knew I could count on you."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Author's Note: Um, I don't know if I need to mention it but I used some parts of Beauty and The Beast without permission. Otherwise, review please! Next chapter...dun dun duuuuuun! 


	13. Ransom

Read and review, but please don't sue!  
  
Part 13  
  
February 15th, 1908  
~ Moulin Rouge, Montmartre, France  
"Lucie! Are you ready yet darling?" Christian called. Lucie jumped out of Marie's grasp and opened the door. She was in a brand new emerald-colored dress and Marie had swept her hair up in a diamond-studded clip.  
"Yes, Daddy! I am!" he smiled and lifted her up.  
"You look beautiful, honey! Marie, you did a fantastic job with her hair!" Marie smiled.  
"Well, I sure hope it holds! She wasn't 'xactly co'perative. To say de least!" she leered at Lucie jokingly, and Lucie returned it with a deep scowl. Christian smiled.  
"That's my girl."  
***  
Nini had been awake at eight that morning, lying in her bed, dreaming of what she would become. Duchess Nini Merriman of Conway. All she had to do was squirt out one brat and she had the world. And of course, she had to deliver Lucie. But that wouldn't be hard.  
She heard the carriage pull up and the clatter of Lucie's tiny shoes on the wood. She flung the covers off of herself and dressed quietly while Monique snored nearby. Rosette turned over a few times, but remained asleep as Nini slipped out the back way and into the alley, headed to Paris.  
***  
Richard splashed another handful of water onto his face after he shaved and then examined his reflection. He was so attractive. How Satine could have chose that stupid, plain-faced writer...  
He sighed and closed his eyes. He wouldn't allow himself to get worked up. In a few hours, his revenge would be complete. He would have the child, then the deeds, and then he'd be gone. The sadistic side of him began to become tingly. He'd waited eight years for this.  
Interrupting his reverie was Warner, who knocked and then stepped in.  
"I'm on my way to the Square. I thought I would let you know." Warner boomed. It wasn't that he shouted, but even his normal tone was loud and reverberating. Richard nodded.  
"Excellent."  
***  
The hustle and bustle of the renowned, wealthy Ferrier Square was overwhelming as Christian and Lucie stepped out of the carriage. Women sashayed gravely by in full-length silk dresses, real fur coats, fancy hats with veils, and diamond jewelry to boot. Men strolled by sedately with pearl-plated walking sticks, tropical wool suits, shiny shoes, and silky dress hats. Lucie was studying the people, and had an extremely perplexed look on her face.  
"What is it, Lucie?" he asked as they made their way to the stands.  
"All these people, Daddy. They are all so serious and frowning! Don't they know their face is going to freeze!" Christian laughed.  
"Maybe no one ever told them that."   
She shrugged. "Someone should."   
They paused beside a few booths, but none of the earbobs for sale were to Lucie's liking. Soon, they came upon a hat booth.  
"Honey, Daddy is going to look here. You stay nearby, okay?" he then asked the small, hunched over vendor to bring down two particular black hats.  
"Daddy, all those hats look the same!" she complained as Christian fussed. Then, as she leaned on the booth, she spotted two booths over two diamond earbobs surrounded by three sapphires. She forgot all about her father's hats and bound over, pressing her face on the glass.  
"Bonjour, mademoiselle. What catches your beautiful eye today?" the clean-cut salesman asked.  
"Those diamonds and sapphires earbobs." She pointed with her gloved hand. He pulled them out and placed them on the glass counter.  
"Say honey, is your Papa here?" she nodded absently as she stared down at the beautiful little pieces of jewelry. Then, she felt a tall presence behind her. She presumed it was her father.  
"Daddy, look-oh! Nini?" she tilted her head as the plainly dressed woman stared lethally at her. Lucie became nervous.  
"What are you doing here?" she asked. Nini leaned down.  
"It's time for you to get yours, Lucie Diamond." She took Lucie's arm roughly and began to pull her. Lucie's frantic eyes searched for Christian, but he was no where to be found.  
"DADDY! DADDY!" she screamed. The vendor leaned over.  
"Hey, mademoiselle, unhand that child!" Nini sneered at him and lifted the struggling Lucie up.  
"Oh, pardon me monsuier. This is my daughta. She's just actin' up 'cause I won't buy her them earbobs!" Nini explained coolly, even as Lucie kicked and slapped. "My 'usband spoils her horrid." And Nini dragged Lucie away.  
"Stop fighting so, you little brat! You're not getting away!" she whispered angrily into Lucie's ear. Lucie kept fighting, and as she saw a waiting carriage, she began to fight harder, ripping one of Nini's earbobs right out, all the blood gushing onto both of them.  
"Aw, god damn it!" Nini cursed. She dropped Lucie, but before she could recover and run, a huge hand was on her arm and she was lifted up into the carriage. He ripped off her hat and threw it onto the street. A big, giant man that was bald and clad only in black pulled her in onto his lap, where he held a foul-smelling rag over her mouth and nose.  
A prickling sensation formed in Lucie's nose and crawled up her face as he vision began to cloud.   
NO! I can't give in...she cried inwardly. She knew if she let it overtake her, she would never escape. As he eyelids fell involuntarily, she forced them open and began to sob. The carriage insides were spinning wildly, as was the image of Nini. She reached out and slapped, making contact with something but unable to see what. Soon, the hands held her tighter and air began to be scarce. All she could do was surrender...  
***  
"I'll take this one." Christian resolved after five more minutes of thought. After he handed over the francs and switched it with his own, he turned to where Lucie was supposed to be standing.  
"What do you think-," he froze as he realized Lucie was gone. With his heart hammering like a gavel and his limbs becoming weak, he moved quickly around, searching the face of each child. He stopped at the booth nearby that sold earbobs.  
"Monsuier, did you see a little girl...dark curly hair, green dress-," the vendor nodded.  
"Yes, yes, sir. Her mother took her off that way." Christian frowned.  
"Sir, did she have a small hat on with diamonds on the base?" the man nodded.  
"Yes. I told you, her mother took her over there to a carriage. They just drove away. Are you her father?" Christian nodded. He laughed.  
"Well, your wife rushed her home. Your little girl was throwing quite a fit." But Christian couldn't hear him, for he was a few feet away, picking up a small hat with diamonds on the base. Inside was a note:  
I've got her now.  
A messenger will bring instructions in two hours to the Moulin Rouge.  
He will only deliver it to you.  
Duke R. Merriman  
***  
"Little imp nearly ripped my ear clean off!" Nini cried as the carriage careened over the flagstone streets to the townhouse. Warner looked at her impassively.  
"Doesn't matter." Nini frowned.  
"To hell with you, it matters to me! Vanity maybe a sin but I ain't no saint!" she informed him.  
"Where you're going it won't matter."  
She looked at him, confused. "What are you talk-," and then Nini was forever silenced with the blast of a pistol.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Author's Note: Ooh! Character death! *tomatoes thrown fiercely* Um, next chapter... 


	14. Choices

Read and review but please don't sue!  
  
Part 14  
  
February 15th, 1908  
~ Moulin Rouge, Montmartre, France  
"What do ya mean, Nini is missing? How? Did she go to bed last night with you garls?" Marie asked angrily. Monique, Rosette, and a few other girls nodded.  
"Yes'm, she did. After she got back from her rendezvous, she performed and we all went to bed. But now she ain't here. No note or anything." Monique explained. Marie put her hands on her hips.  
"We got to start rehearsal and she's playing Otis's wife! Oh, I'm gonna slap her around for dis one!" she vowed. She left the dressing room and headed out to Harold's office.   
When she was going up the stairs, the front doors burst open and hysterical Christian.  
"HAROLD! MARIE! LUCIE IS GONE!" he screamed. The door to Harold's office swung open and Marie and Harold bound down the stairs to where Christian was on his knees.  
"What are you talkin' of, boy! Speak to me! Whaddya sayin'?" Marie demanded as she clutched Christian's face.  
"She was taken..." He stood up and handed Harold the note.  
"Blessed be the Virgin, it's THE DUKE!" Harold cried. Marie snatched the away and read it with broad, horrified eyes.  
"He took her...right out from under my nose!" Christian bemoaned. "If anything happens to her..." Marie slapped Christian.  
"Stop your whining, man! That isn't getting that baby back here! Now we got to think! How did the Duke know where to find you?" Harold prodded. Christian shook his head, trying to think.  
"I have no idea-,"  
"-Nini!" Marie whispered hoarsely. Harold and Christian turned to her.  
"She's gone missing this morning..." Harold gasped.  
"She wouldn't!" Marie shook her head.  
"Harold, you know the animosity she has..." Christian stood.  
"My god, we've got to find her!"   
"She's not coming back here, Christian. She knows we aren't stupid, that we'll figure it out." Harold reasoned. Christian sighed.  
"You're right. So what do we do?" Marie shook her head.  
"All we can do is wait for that messenger."  
***  
Lucie in the sky with diamonds...Lucie in the sky with diamonds...  
  
Lucie slowly and painfully opened her eyes, dreading what lie beyond them. It was very bright in the room she laid in, and the rays of light stung her sensitive eyes like hot pokers. She quickly pressed her hands on them and tears gushed out.  
"It's about time you awoke." An angry, bitter voice spat. Lucie blinked rapidly and tried to focus on the figure across the room. She was lying on a couch, her ankles bound, in a very tastefully decorated room. Across the room was a small, skinny, blonde, beaver man with a weird maroon jacket on. He was sneering at her.  
"Who are you and how can I get very far away from you?" she asked wearily.  
"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. I am the man who decides just how long you live, Lucie." He laced her name with a sharp accent that made her heart thump. Don't let him know you're frightened. She chanted in her head.  
"I didn't know God was such a puny, yellow-bellied, chicken liver." She replied coolly. He rushed over and in one smooth swoop he slapped her very hard. The salty warmth of blood in her mouth silenced her for a moment.  
"Say that again, you little piss!" he seethed, with spittle getting on Lucie's face. "Do you know whom you're talking to?"  
"No, and I don't care. Now take me home!" she demanded.  
"Oh, yes, I am at your every beckon call...yeah, right!" he cackled evilly as he pulled out twine and twisted it angrily around her hands. She yelped as the sharp rope bit into the sensitive skin on her wrists.  
"Fine! Who are you? What do you want?"  
"I am Duke Richard Merriman of Conway." He said meaningfully. Lucie stared at him blankly.  
"Okay...that means nothing to me." She frowned. He blinked.  
"Well, just think of me as the poor schmuck your mother pawned into giving her so much money and then humiliating me!"   
"That can't be a rare occurrence."   
Another hard slap on the face. Instead of swallowing the blood, Lucie spit it right into his face.  
"There, you pathetic-," but the ether was held over her face once again, and after a few moments, she was unconscious once again. Richard looked at her with intense hate smoldering below the surface. Warner stood nearby, the ether in hand.  
"What should I do with her, boss?" he asked. Richard thought.  
"Take her up into the attic, untie her, and lock her in. Then go deliver than message." Warner nodded and picked Lucie up like a rag doll and carried her upstairs.  
He returned a few moments later with an envelope and was on his way, afoot, to the Moulin Rouge.  
***  
The entire cast of the Moulin Rouge sat in apprehensive wait in the ballroom, similar to the time that they awaited news of Satine's conquest with the Duke. Now it was just as hurtful, and everyone was just as uptight and ready to snap. Christian sat in a small corner alone, staring at an empty scotch glass.  
The huge wooden ballroom was silent except for the occasional tapping and the opening or closing of a bottle of booze. Therefore, the loud bang of the knocker sent the room's occupant's a mile high. Christian jumped up and vaulted over furniture.  
He reached the door and swung it open to reveal the much loathed and fear Warner.  
"Christian?" the booming, colossal man asked. Christian seethed.  
"You know damned well it's me." Warner's mouth moved into what could only pass as an attempted smile. He handed the envelope and small paper bag to him.  
"If I am followed, my boss will know and the girl dies." He turned and strode away. Christian ripped open the envelope and cast members crowded behind him.  
  
This club, you, Satine, and Zidler have humiliated me too many times. It's your turn to feel the anger I've felt and your turn to feel my wrath in it's entirety. I want the Moulin Rouge. I want the deeds. Then I will evict you all and level it. Don't think I won't, and don't ignore this because I have your child, your only link to your beloved whore. She is such a delicate thing...killing her would be so easy. If you wish that not to happen, you will follow my instructions to the letter.   
Seal the deeds in an envelope, signed and authenticated by Zidler, and place them under Notre Dame tonight at midnight. Then vacate the area. Do not attempt to apprehend my associate, or she dies. When I receive confirmation, I will drop her at the entrance to Montmartre, unharmed.  
Do not contact the police, for not only would that be fruitless because I have them under my payroll, but it would also result in her death. Now get to work.  
Duke R. Merriman of Conway  
  
"My god..." Christian trailed off. Harold had read over his shoulder and was staring a thousand yards away. The two things he loved most: the Moulin Rouge, and Lucie. Now he was forced to choose. Marie cursed.  
"What are you going to do, Harol'?" Marie demanded. Harold couldn't breathe, but forced the words.  
"I don't know..." Christian crumpled the paper.  
"I'm going to kill him." He vowed.  
"Let's get da baby back first. Now, Harol', go prepare the deeds..." Marie began. Christian shook his head.  
"We cannot let him win!" he screamed.  
"Do you want yer pride or yer chil'?" Marie returned, equally loud. Monique stood up.  
"Not to interrupt, but what about that bag?" They all turned, and Harold walked over to it. He lifted it slowly and undid the top. A foul odor emitted from it, and he cautiously looked inside.  
"MY GOD!" he shouted. The bag fell to the floor and a hand and wrist fell out. On the wrist was a gold bracelet with NINI engraved on it. The entire cast gasped and some women fainted.  
"You see, Marie? Nini would have only done this if there was something in it for her, and I bet he didn't promise her death! That slime won't give her back, even if he had the deeds! We have to rescue her!" Harold stood up.  
"This is not a fairy tale, Christian! Not having her back is risk we must take! Whether he wins or not, at least we have a CHANCE of getting Lucie back!" Christian nodded in defeat.  
"You're right." He looked up at Satine's poster. Darling, he's going to win, but I must save Lucie. He told her mentally.   
"Prepare the deeds."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Author's Note: Not much to say. Next chapter... 


	15. Escaping

Read, review, but please don't sue!  
  
Part 15  
  
February 15th, 1908  
~ The Merriman Residence, Paris, France  
A throbbing headache was all that greeted Lucie as she woke the second time from the ether dose. It felt as though a tiny alien had clamped to her head and was doing a vigorous aerobic exercise. She sat up unevenly and looked again at her new surroundings.  
It was pitch black except for a little light provided by a window on the far end. There was boxes shoved around in the corners, and the ceiling was pivoting low and had beams hanging even lower. It was an attic of some kind.  
Lucie stood slowly and walked to the window. She held onto the pane and stood on her tippy toes to see outside. It was dusk time, and as the huge clock across Paris declared, it was five twenty-five, PM. She rubbed her eyes and stood back. She had to get out of here. A part of her knew that if she didn't, her death was inevitable. That Duke was unstable, and could kill her at any moment.  
I've got to get out of here...the window! She looked outside. It was at least three stories. She would die for sure if she jumped. Her busy eyes scoured the darkness, but soon her thoughts were interrupted by voices. They were coming from an air vent. She got on her hands and knees and put her ear up to the tennis ball-sized opening.  
  
"Warner, the plan is going well. Those idiots will hand over the deeds for sure. Anything for the girl. At least according to Nini."  
"Are you sure, boss? The deeds to the Moulin Rouge just like that? Could Nini have been exaggerating?"  
"She could have been, but still...the child's blood will be on them if they don't."  
  
Lucie gasped. They were holding her for the deeds to the MOULIN ROUGE! She felt faint, but listened further.  
  
"Warner, I am going to have dinner now. I want you to take care of the child."  
"Take care of, sir?"  
"Yes, Warner. You didn't actually think I was going to return her to them ALIVE, did you? They need to feel my wrath in whole..."  
  
Lucie stopped breathing. THEY WERE GOING TO KILL HER ANYWAY! She stood up quickly. Uncle Harold was going to hand over the deeds and she would be dead!   
Her knees began to buckle and she caught herself before she fell completely.  
Stop panicking, you fool! THINK! You can get out of this! She told herself. But the only opening was that hole and the window. She ran to the window and peered down. There was a ledge, maybe a foot wide. If she could get onto it, she could possibly get into another room that was unlocked and go free. But she might also fall.  
If I stay here, I will die. There is only a chance I will fall. She convinced herself as she took off her shoes and clasped them around her wrists. They may come in handy.  
She pushed with all of her might on the window, the wood splintering and piercing her soft palms. She gritted her teeth and pushed until it was open two feet.   
The hard footfalls of Warner sounded beneath her. With her heart running a marathon in her chest and her breath coming in short puffs, she laid in the window and dropped her stocking foot onto the ledge. Her foot planted, the swung the other over as well, ripping a long slit up the front of her dress.  
As she brought her foot down, the attic door swung open and startled her so her grip loosened and an all too real feeling of vertigo over took her. But she shoved herself backwards and held onto the bricks.  
She heard Warner running around, over to the window, and she began to edge. With one wide stride at a time, she made her way away as Warner's paw-like hands swung out after her billowing hair.  
"BOSS! BOSS!" Warner shouted. Lucie kept moving with even more urgency and saw below her an open window on the second floor. Lady Luck must have been looking her way. It had a wider ledge, and if she could get on the top and ledge and somehow drop herself safely to the bottom, she could get inside and run freely.  
Slowly lowering herself to a crouch on the tiny ledge, she carefully pulled her right foot out and crouched father down until her toes touched the top pane. With the wind blowing to urge her on, she took the risk and dropped her entire foot, causing her body to teeter as she fell forward...  
...but she caught the ledge and steadied herself before letting go and standing on the foot-wide pane. She took a breath, whispered a Hail Mary, and then crouched again, repeating the process safely until she as on the bottom pane. The room before her was a bedroom of some kind. She quietly slipped inside, testing quickly the wooden boards for any loose ones.  
When she was inside, she took a deep breath and paused, listening for the Duke. She barely noticed the gorgeous lay out of the master bedroom as she heard the hurried steps of the Duke and Warner. Without thinking, she dove under the bed.  
"What do you mean, ESCAPED? That's three stories! She would die!" he hissed. "She's somewhere in this house! Now we must find her!" they hurried off, and Lucie waited a full thirty seconds before coming out. She examined the room for possible weapons, but found none. Then she opened the door and peered down the hallway.  
The wood floors were impeccably waxed, and most likely slippery. Lucie couldn't figure out which way led to a staircase, which would lead down. She took a step out, but then the roar of Warner's voice shouted:  
"Freeze!" Lucie leapt into the room, slammed the door, and as the thundering footfalls echoed down the hall, she threw herself into the laundry shoot. It was similar to the one at the Moulin Rouge, and as she shut the gate to it, Warner fired four shots with his own gun. With her arms working at an unknown speed, she yanked the rope and began lowering herself.   
"She's in the laundry shoot!" Warner yelled. By then, Lucie was at the first floor. She flung the door open and fell out into the kitchen. Clumsily, she had knocked over a table, causing pots and pans to fly.  
"THE KITCHEN!" the Duke yelled. Lucie raced to the back door and with all her might pulled and pulled but it was locked. She then saw the semi-open basement door. In a desperate sprint, she flung it open and stumbled down the steps, ripping things off the walls as to create obstacles for the pursuers.  
When she finally reached the bottom, the smell of mildew overtook her and she had the urge to vomit. But she swallowed it and continued running to a window about three feet above ground. It was closed and locked, so she took her shoe and began smashing it. When a sizable hole was made, she pulled herself through, not caring about the fiery pain her hands.  
As she was almost out, Warner entered and shot two more times. Lucie sighed with relief, realizing he was out of bullet, but when an explosion of unbearable, paralyzing pain shot through her calf. She screamed, but continued pulling herself until she was out.  
She lay in the flowerbed and looked down at her leg. Blood was gushing everywhere, and there was a gaping hole on both sides. The sight of it made the vomit come and she spat it out. She managed to half-stand, but the searing pain in her leg made tears flow like rivers down her face.  
"Stop her!" she heard the Duke scream. She hobbled down to a safe brush to hide as she tore a long strip of her dress away and wrapped it around the wound tightly. Now, she could almost walk normally, for numbness took over. She heard Warner and the Duke exiting the house and she snuck out around the neighboring house. She crouched in the brush there and then sprinted awkwardly across to the next house's brush. She repeated this process until she reached Ferrier Square.  
The sight of the elbow-to-elbow people sent a wave of relief. They were so wrapped up in themselves they wouldn't notice her.   
As she staggered into the crowd, she felt cold all of a sudden and faint. What was happening? She continued to push her way through the crowd and soon had to grab onto passerby people. They shoved her off and she hit the flagstone hard. She pulled herself up and forced on, even though her vision was dimming and her head began to pound. The pain became so bad, Lucie thought of surrendering. Just letting go...  
But a familiar face in the crowd emerged and became clear among the mottled images. Lucie felt herself being lifted up and carried away, and she only hoped it was by the angels, to heaven...  
***  
Dusk had left and made way for night, and with heavy hearts, Harold and Marie drew up the deeds. Christian watched the front window in apprehension and anger. How he would maim that Duke...  
"There. All done." Harold announced sorrowfully. Marie nodded somberly and they got ready to seal them. Christian lowered his head in grief. The end of the Moulin Rouge...and he was most certain the end of Lucie. That Duke would kill her, he knew.  
But as he lifted his head, a flash of movement coming up the front steps of the Moulin Rouge's front courtyard caught his eyes. He leaned forward and put his hands on the glass to brace himself.   
"MARIE! HAROLD!" and he raced from the office.  
With a unconscious sprinting, Christian dashed down the spiral stairs, down through the audience seating, and out the front door. The other objects around him melded together as he focused on the movement. Harold and some other cast members were on his heels.  
"Monsuier Harold! Anyone!" Nichole DeLoncre shouted as she bound up the stairs...with a bleeding Lucie in her arms. Christian wrenched Lucie from her arms and fell to his knees as he sobbed over her limp, tiny, body...  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Author's Note: No, this is not the end! Please don't flame me! 


	16. England

Read, review, but please don't sue!  
  
Part 16  
  
February 18th, 1908  
~ Moulin Rouge, Montmartre, France  
She stood before him in a flowing white gown, which made her creamy skin glow and her red hair vibrant...her soft, sweet breath tickled his face...her crystal blue eyes were none blinking and stead...she moved with an unnatural grace towards him...her rosy lips moved slowly as she spoke...  
"Christian, I love you! Can you save me? Will you save me Christian?" Then, the soft blue of the sky behind her transformed. Her eyes began to puff up and turned red, her skin mottled with purple. Her hair began to fly in a rage and she began to scream.  
"SATINE! NO!" he screamed as he reached for her. But she was devoured into the swirling black sky.  
  
  
"NOO!" Christian shouted, his head flying up and his body pivoting backwards. He gulped air as if he had been drowning, and quickly remembered where he was.   
He was seated beside a huge, satin-sheeted bed where Lucie lie, fast asleep. He too had fallen asleep, and that awful, gut-wrenching dream had taken hold. After a quick recovery, he leaned over the bed and stroked Lucie's soft billowing hair.  
"Oh, my baby..." he cooed. Then, the door opened and a big worried head of red hair poked in.  
"Christian? Are you all right?" Harold asked. Christian nodded.  
"Yes. Bad dream." Harold entered and stood beside the bed, looking at Lucie. She was lying on her side with her face to them in an elongated fetal position. Her nightgown seemed to swallow her up and her placid face was soft in sleep.  
"Such an innocent child. Had no idea what was happening." Christian nodded. Harold pulled up a chair.  
"Christian, we must speak. I have come to a conclusion on what is to become of you, Lucie, and all of us." Christian faced him. This man had raised his child for eight years. Whatever he said now was law.  
"I believe you should take Lucie home with you. To England. It isn't safe for her here. I can handle the Duke in time, but during that time I would rest easier if she were secluded at your home." Christian shook his head.  
"I couldn't just take her...she LOVES it here. The separation..."  
"...She's a wise child, Christian. She would understand. When troubles were cleared, I would send word. She could visit then. But living here is a risk. Satine would want this for her." Christian thought for a long time.  
"I'll take her to England." Harold smiled.  
"Thank you. But there is another request." Christian nodded.  
"Anything."  
"I think you should write a book, Christian. Tell your story. Your and Satine's story." Christian frowned.  
"You think?"  
"Of course! You have your journal, right? Make it from that! Tell the world. After all, that is one hell of a story!" Christian laughed.  
"Yes, you're right Harold. It certainly is."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Author's Note: Yes, ONE MORE CHAPTER! 


	17. Goodnight, My Angel

Read, review, but please don't sue!  
  
Part 17  
  
January 19th, 1909  
  
~ The Doyle Residence, Llwellyn, Wales  
  
"Master, we have arrived." Val spoke loudly to his sleeping passenger. Christian Doyle opened his eyes slowly and stretched.  
  
"Thank you, Val." He picked up his satchel and stepped out onto the gravel. It had been four and one half months since he had last been here, and it was a relief to see the gray brick, black awnings, wide windows, and rot iron balconies. He took a breath of air and made his way up the front steps.  
  
As he reached the door, it opened and a darkly dressed young, beautiful woman greeted him.  
  
"Oh, brother, it's fabulous to have you home!" she wrapped her arms around his neck. The scent of lavender invaded his nostrils.  
  
"It's fabulous to BE home, Amelia." He replied. They stepped inside and he shed his jacket and set his case down. She hung it up and they processed to the den.  
  
"How are you? When have you last eaten?" Amelia pressed.  
  
"Amelia, hush! You sound like mother!" he told her as they reached the den.  
  
"You say that like it's a bad thing, Christian!" Katharine Doyle snapped jokingly from her seat on the over-stuffed velvet chair in the den. Christian smiled.  
  
"Never, Mother." He bent down and kissed the old woman. She nodded her dark head.  
  
"You better believe it. It's good you're home. Little One has been missing you." Christian's eyes lit up.  
  
"Ah, yes, where is she?" Amelia motioned to the French doors.  
  
"She's out back, riding Sugarcane." Christian made his way to the doors and opened them.  
  
"I would like to add, I pressed for her to be taught side-saddle, but apparently unless I do it myself, it won't be done!" Katharine added as she sipped some tea. Amelia shrugged guilty.  
  
"It was to make it easier. Side-saddle always bothered me." Katharine shook her head.  
  
"It's not fitting to have little girls galloping about with their shimmies flapping in the wind!" Christian laughed as he and Amelia watched a black stallion gallop by. A blue-habit-clad passenger bounced with trained glee as it leapt over a three-foot bar. Christian walked out onto the porch and waved as the stallion slowed.  
  
The passenger squinted against the setting sun and when her deep blue eyes registered, her mouth shaped into an ecstatic smile.  
  
"DADDY!" she squealed as she mounted, jumped off, and sprang into his arms. He lifted her up and held her as she wrapped her arms around his neck.  
  
"Oh Daddy! Where have you been? I've been waiting for you! You said you'd be back a week ago!" she scolded as he carried her towards the house.  
  
"I was out hunting for the best silk and lace to wrap my baby Lucie in!" he assured her with a kiss on the forehead.  
  
"Okay, then I SUPPOSE you're forgiven." She concurred.  
  
***  
  
"To Christian!" Amelia proposed at the dinner table as the entire family raised their glasses.  
  
"To Daddy!" Lucie chirped. Amelia, Christian, and Katharine sipped their wine and Lucie gulped her water.  
  
"So," Christian began, "fill me in on the last three months!" Amelia grinned bashfully and Lucie, mouth full, perked up.  
  
"Aunt Amelia got engaged to Robert Moore!" Amelia turned wildly to Lucie and looked at her scandalously.  
  
"LUCIE CAROLINE!" she hissed. Christian laughed.  
  
"Amelia...finally getting hitch, eh?" her face bright red, Amelia nodded. He lifted his glass.  
  
"Then to hell with me...to Amelia and Robert!" everyone giggled and Amelia recovered the embarrassment.  
  
"What about you Daddy? What have you been doing the past few months? You left us with quite a mystery!" Lucie asked interestedly.  
  
"Well, since you asked Darling, I've been selling my book." He pulled from the satchel nearby an engraved leather-bound book with A STORY ABOUT LOVE engraved in gold script. The women all gasped.  
  
"So that's what you've been doing! I'll say, I had a hard time figuring out what was keeping you from our delightful company." Katharine said.  
  
"Yes, mother. It's the story of my times in Montmartre. This is the first edition...it's for Lucie." Lucie's eyes grew.  
  
"For...me?" he nodded.  
  
"Yes. All for you. It's a be risquÃ©, so I won't give it to you until your eighteenth birthday, you understand?" She nodded slowly, not knowing what risquÃ© was.  
  
"It's about my mother, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes...yes, it is, darling."  
  
A long beat passed, and then Lucie got down from her chair and made her way over to her father. She crawled up on his lap and hugged him.  
  
"Thank you, Daddy."  
  
***  
  
After dinner was done, the table cleared, and Lucie put to bed, Christian retired to his beloved den for his pipe.  
  
While was studying the landscape outside, not yet covered in snow but soon to be, a soft knock on his door signaled a visitor.  
  
"Come in." he replied as he turned his chair and faced the visitor, Amelia.  
  
"While I pondered weak and weary, over a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, there came a rapping at my door...that's how it goes, right?" she asked. He nodded.  
  
"Yes, it is. What can I do for you, sister?" she stood across from him and crossed her arms, contemplating her words.  
  
"I understand if you refuse, but there is a question I need to ask you. I know how important it is to you, so feel free to reject me." She began. Christian nodded.  
  
"All right, what's the question?"  
  
"May I read your book?" Christian frowned.  
  
"Of course, Amelia...are you kidding? Here." He handed her another copy of the book, this one simpler than the one he had for Lucie.  
  
"Are you sure?" she asked.  
  
"Yes! By God, Amelia, millions of people are reading it, why couldn't you?" she shrugged.  
  
"I don't know, I just didn't know if you would want me to know..." he waved his hand.  
  
"You're not a child, Amelia! Go ahead." She smiled relievedly.  
  
"Oh, thank you Christian!" As she left, he stopped her.  
  
"Amelia, can I ask why you have such a strong interest?" he inquired. She stopped and thought. After a moment, she answered,  
  
"Because this was a pivotal part of your life, the part the made you the man you are today! You experienced true love, Christian. Only a few people ever do. And you experienced loss, as well. It molded you. It was the most important time in your life. You conceived a child. You found out the true meaning of life. I want to know what made you so strong, so loving, and such a truly great man." Christian, profoundly moved, couldn't find words. But a sudden scream interrupted his thoughts.  
  
"DADDY!" With that, Christian and Amelia raced down the plush hallways and swung the wide white door open to the dream-like bedroom. In the center was a large canopy bed where a tiny, tortured body writhed in fear.  
  
"Oh my, she's having another nightmare!" Amelia whispered.  
  
Christian came to the bedside and lifted Lucie out of the bed as she trembled.  
  
"Shh...shh..." he cooed. Amelia tiptoed out as Christian rocked Lucie. Her words finally became coherent.  
  
"Oh Daddy, it was so scary...I was in the dark and I was drowning and I could feel the air with my outstretched hands but I couldn't reach it! DADDY I'm so scared!" she bemoaned.  
  
"It's okay, Lucie...calm down, Daddy's here...I won't let you drown, darling..." his mind flashed back to Satine, who also experienced all-too- real nightmares of drowning. He rocked her a little harder.  
  
"Are you okay, now, Lucie?" she took a breath and wiped her tears away.  
  
"Yes, I think so." She replied. He released her and she crawled back into bed. He tucked the blankets up around her chin and looked down at her lovingly.  
  
"I love you, Lucie."  
  
"I love you too, Daddy. Will you sing me a song?" he smiled and brushed her hair out of her eyes.  
  
"Certainly, baby. What song?"  
  
"I don't know...any song...make one up." She closed her eyes and waited. He thought for a moment and then the octaves began flowing:  
  
Goodnight, my angel  
  
Time to close your eyes  
  
And save these questions for another day  
  
I think I know what you've been asking me  
  
I think you know what I've been trying to say  
  
I promised I would never leave you  
  
And you should always know  
  
Wherever you may go  
  
No matter where you are  
  
I never will be far away  
  
Goodnight, my angel  
  
Now it's time to sleep  
  
And still so many things I want to say  
  
Remember all the songs you sang for me  
  
When we went sailing on an emerald bay  
  
And like a boat out on the ocean  
  
I'm rocking you to sleep  
  
The water's dark and deep inside this ancient heart  
  
You'll always be a part of me  
  
Goodnight, my angel  
  
Now it's time to dream  
  
And dream how wonderful your life will be  
  
Someday your child may cry  
  
And if you sing this lullaby  
  
Then in your heart there will always be a part of me  
  
Someday we'll all be gone  
  
But lullabies go on and on  
  
They never die  
  
That's how you and I will be...  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Author's Note: The end. Read next page for thanks.  
  
Oh yeah, I used without permission lyrics from Billy Joel's "Lullaby". Sorry, Bill! 


	18. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

THE END  
  
I would like to thank everyone who reviewed and offered advice and corrections and so on. I wasn't sure on some of the codes to make Italics or bold, so if someone could let me know for future reference, I'd appreciate it. And any other corrections, PLEASE TELL ME! This was my first fan fiction, and I hope it was enjoyable. It took a while, because I had SERIOUS writer's block, but I like my ending and I hope you do too. Before I start to just plain babble, I'll stop writing. But much thanks!  
  
Ciao  
~*~Kate~*~ 


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